Just a Story
by donttalktomeimfangirling
Summary: USUK America and England are having a rainy day inside and America asks England to tell him a story. As he begins, America drifts off to sleep and when he wakes up... He's on a pirate ship in the middle of the sea with a captain that is in many ways like a dear friend, but in many ways very different. Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the cover image to this story
1. Chapter 1

Alfred F. Jones stared out the window of the library. It was a gloomy day, certainly not the one he had been hoping for when he, on a whim, had decided to call Arthur Kirkland and invite him to go sailing. Arthur, better known as England, had always had a love for sailing and though Alfred knew it had something to do with his past, Arthur didn't talk much about it. All he could get out of England was that he had been a pirate. This wasn't really news to Arthur because when England had found him, little America, he was still somewhat of a pirate. But then, that could have just been his imagination making the man who had raised him into a fearless, deadly pirate instead of the quiet and, to be quite frank, boring old sod that he was now.

That didn't mean America didn't like England. Their relationship was…. complicated at best. After gaining his independence, Alfred had steered clear of Arthur for a while and sometimes that entire encounter still seemed to cause problems between the two. They never mentioned it even though America was usually one to rub victories in other's faces. Not this victory though. He cared too much to hurt England and preferred to simply forget it ever happened. Easier said than done of course…

Alfred shook his head. Arthur would probably refuse to go sailing now as he was so very strict with his stupid rules. "No sailing when it's raining, do you want to get caught in a storm you bloody git?" A small smile crept onto Alfred's face as he thought of what his dear friend would say. At this rate, Arthur probably wouldn't come at all. Just as he started to turn away from the window, a flash of light caught his attention. Glancing quickly back so saw two headlights appear in the driveway, and his smile grew. So the old man was going to stop by after all.

Running out of the library, down the stairs and through the hallway, he arrived at the front door just as Arthur knocked. He threw open the door and gave England one of signature bear hugs, basically crushing all of the breath out of the smaller man's lungs. "Oh, get OFF me, you idiot!" His giant eyebrows were furrowed in frustration and surprise as the young man picked him up while continuing to the hug. "You came! I was worried you wouldn't because of the rain." The excitement was simply uncontained on America's face as he finally dropped England. Arthur graced this statement with a scoff. "Of course I came. We may not go sailing but I promised to come and I wasn't about to break my promise." Alfred groaned, "I knew you would say we couldn't go sailing, I freaking KNEW it."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur took off his wet coat and hung it on a hook on the wall. "But of course. No sailing in the rain." "Called it," Alfred whispered under his breath. England looked over. "Did you say something?" "No no, course not." America smiled innocently and grabbed England. "Let's build a fort and then turn on the fire place and then bake some cookies- no scones- and then," He was cut off as England gave one of his rare laughs. "You sound like your five years old. Slow down you git and pick one thing to do." America thought for a moment but simply couldn't decide. "How about you pick? Only rule is you are NOT making the food."

America stifled a laugh as England's eyebrows came together as he thought. A moment passed and England responded with, "Let's make some tea and stay in and read. I've been told your library is pretty amazing." Alfred yawned. "You and your boring reading. Always with the READING." "You said I could pick and I did. So that's what we are doing." America sighed and hung his head, but eventually decided that it wasn't that bad of an idea. He could never let England know that of course. So he decided to play it cool. "Fine, but I'm so not drinking tea." They went to the kitchen together where England made himself some tea and America pulled together a huge mug of hot chocolate with ten marshmallows. "You know you never finish those when you make them, right?" Arthur was looking at the hot chocolate in distaste, entirely content with his tea. "Nuhu, I ALWAYS finish." Before Arthur could reply, America was running through the house to the stairs, his mug nearly spilling with every step. England walked slowly behind him, shaking his head the whole way.

When Arthur reached the library, he was not disappointed. The walls were lined with shelves that reached the ceiling and there were books crammed in every possible space. For a man who said he didn't like to read, Alfred sure had a lot of books. He weaved his way through the books to find America sprawled out on a couch staring at his computer. "Ohhhhh no. You are reading because that is what I said we were doing." He walked over and slammed the laptop closed, yanking it out of America's hands and putting it as high as he could reach. "Hey, you know I can reach that right?" England glared at him causing Alfred to laugh at his eyebrows again. They never did get old…

"So what do I read?" Seriously? This guy had a million books and he couldn't pick one to read in silence? "Anything. I mean there has got to be something new to read…." "I've read them all." England stopped cold. "WHAT? HOW? There are so many!" Alfred shrugged, not really impressed. "My house, my library. I've simply read them all." England's eyes narrowed. "Then reread one." Alfred stubbornly shook his head. "No way in hell. They lose any excitement that they ever held after you know the ending. How fun can they be a second time?"

Sighing England walked over to the bookshelf closest to him and grabbed the first book he saw. "You've read '_How to Golf for Dummies'? _Why?" Again, Alfred shrugged. "It was there. And man did it help my swing!" America was sad by how disappointed Arthur looked. He obviously wanted to sit and do something quiet with him for once…. His smile reappeared and was bigger that it had been all day. England looked over, a little terrified. "Oh God, what are you thinking." "TELL ME A STORY!" Arthur's eyes widened in surprise. America was nodding and smiling like an idiot. "Come on, you used to tell me stories all the time when I was little. Pleassseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee….." Arthur rolled his eyes again, determined not to show how excited he was by having Alfred ask to be told a story. "Fine but only if you stop with that awful whining!" America whooped and scooted over on the couch, motioning for England to sit.

England set his teacup down on the table, and just in time because a second later America was sprawled out on the couch again, putting a pillow in Arthur's lap and closing his eyes. Arthur sighed, and thought about what story to tell his young friend. He placed his hand on America's head and began the way any good story would start. "Once upon a time, there was a pirate who ruled the seas taking everything he could get. He was brave and terrifying and a very good swordsman, but there's always more to a man than you know…"


	2. Chapter 2

**After this chapter, I will be referring to the America and England from the present by their human names, and the one's from the past by the country. Just to save confusion. No one likes confusion. **

He hadn't planned to fall asleep, really he hadn't. England's story hadn't sounded half bad, but something about the rain falling on the window, the fire in the fireplace and the sweet smell of old leather and gotten him really sleepy. It was like old times, with England there to comfort him and tell him stories to help him fall asleep. He hoped it hadn't hurt his friend's feelings that he had passed out so easily. As he lay there for a minute, still not opening his eyes, America began to feel something prodding his back. What the hell…. Finally, tired as he was, Alfred forced open his eyes, and the sight waiting for him certainly wasn't a British cup of tea.

The room was dingy, and dark, and smelled like salt water. This all hit America at once, and it didn't really bother him for a moment. Then he realized, "But, England and I didn't go sailing today…." Alfred shot straight up, looking around in terror. What the hell was going on? This was definitely not his library. Looking down, he noticed that he had been sleeping on a length of wooden crates and the thing pocking him had been a hook protruding from the wall. He had to have been dreaming. There was no other explanation. But it seemed so real…

America slapped his forehead. ENGLAND. It had to have been England and his black magic crap. Always up to some spell, and unfortunately this one worked. Perfect. Now all he had to do was find out what this stupid spell had done. He knew he was on a ship, but that was pretty vague. From the movement of the floor, he could tell they were sailing. How far were they from shore? And why did everything, the boxes, the weapons, the setup of the lower deck, look so OLD?

A recreation? A stupid living history thing, made for visitor's enjoyment and nothing else? How awful they portrayed England in these things, especially around the time of the Revolutionary War. Yeahhh, not fun times…. But why or how did England manage to get him HERE? What happened to staying in and re-.

His thought was cut off as he felt something cold and sharp press against his throat from behind. What the hell kind of show was this? A knot of fear grew in his stomach. What the hell was happening here? "Aye, a stowaway. You bastards are always trying to get free passage, no pay and no work. Well you know, you picked the wrong boat to stowaway on. Our captain is a strong, capable man and he will have you walk the plank!" The gruff voice had a heavy English accent and sounded like nails on a chalkboard to America. He thought of a few snappy comebacks, but wasn't able to voice any due to the blade being pressed against his throat.

Picked up from the crates by the back of his shirt, the man forced America up the ladder and onto the upper deck. The blinding sun greeted him and one look around said that they were truly in the middle of the ocean, with no land in sight. The dagger had not been removed from his neck, but America was able to turn slightly, enough to see the man that was dragging him across the deck now. He was huge, with arms like a wrestlers and a torso the size of an elephant. His long, greasy black hair was tied back in a pony tail and his face was absolutely over grown with a bushy black beard and mustache. His eyes were dark brown and cold, obviously filled with hate and a lot of anger.

There were men much like this one all over the deck, working the sails, cleaning the floor, and fighting. There was a lot of fighting. They looked like a motley crew, but something about them said that if they ever managed to be serious, they would look very terrifying. Where were the guests, the spectators? If they weren't working or something, then why were the keeping up the act of pirates? "Look men, we got ourselves a stowaway!" The entire ship fell silent as the men all turned to stare at the man who had magically appeared on their ship.

Then someone laughed. A dark, menacing laugh. The whole crew soon followed suite. "That fool! He dared to stowaway on this ship?" "Does he know who our captain is?" "Nothing but a cold, dark death waits for you now!" One of the men stepped forward. "Eh, where did you find the lad? He looks well fed and well rested, why the hell would he need top stowaway?" The large man shrugged, the motion bringing the blade closer against America's throat. "How should I know? I say, we tell our good captain and enjoy ourselves a plank walk!"

America didn't like the sound of this. What kind of crazy shit did England get him into? England and his stupid magic. This was bound to happen at some point though. The crew cheered as a smug looking pirate moved from the wheel to approach America. "Why ello there, sir. I'm the first mate on this here vessel. For the short while that you will know me, you may call me Finn. As I'm sure you've gathered, we are pirates. But not just any pirates, oh no. Our captain is well known and feared. You will know him the moment you see him, and his face shall be the last you see before you jump to your watery grave. Johnson, tell the captain of our little friend."

A small boy's eyes widened to the size of saucers as he ran to open a door under the wheel that opened to a small hallway. He disappeared to supposedly get this 'captain'. America was totally lost now. Could they break character for even a moment to explain what was happening? And who the hell was watching anyway? This was all getting a little ridiculous, even for him.

The cabin boy reappeared, looking horribly frightened. "He's coming!" The men, who only seconds ago had been in lounging and fighting and laughing, all got into two perfectly straight lines on either side of the door standing tall and alert. The big man that was now holding Alfred in a choke hold, dragged him to the end of the line and faced the door. Heavy footsteps could be heard behind the door and even America was anxious to know who could inspire these animals to look like soldiers.

The door finally flew open, and a rather imposing figure stepped into the sunshine. He wasn't very tall but what he lacked in height was made up for in presence. He wore heavy black boots and an outfit straight from a pirate movie. The long coat was blue and red and around his waist were two pistols- like the OLD pistols. None of this was what made Alfred's mouth drop to the floor though. It was the face. Under the captain's hat was a mess of golden hair that messily fell around his face, just barely covering huge eyebrows. Two emerald green eyes glared at him in what looked like a mix of pleasure and detest. His mouth was curved up in a slight smile, more of a smirk. After ogling for a moment, America found his voice. Just above a whisper, America muttered, "England?"


	3. Chapter 3

**So thanks to anyone actually reading this. I'm having a lot of fun writing it and will try to update pretty often. Hope you like it. **

Alfred stared straight at the man he thought he knew. It definitely LOOKED like England. He had the same eyes, hair, and unmistakable eyebrows. There was no way it couldn't be him. Except for that look on his face. That was what made him so very different. It wasn't England's usually calm, confused, and sophisticated look, oh no. This man standing in front of him had a whole different look, a new demeanor. His face was cruel, etched with smugness and distrust. He stood up tall and seemed like he expected the whole world to bow down to him. Judging by the pirate crew, it looked like he was right about that. His eyes gleamed with lust and excitement covered by a sheet of disapproval. In one word, this England was… fearless.

After a dramatic moment, England stepped forward, walking down the aisle created by his crew. As he passed, they saluted though he didn't spare them a glance as he strutted to his first mate, stationed next to Alfred and his obnoxious captor. The closer he got, the more convinced Alfred became that this was NOT his England. How could it be, with those cold eyes and terrifying presence? But there could be no denying it; it simply had to be him. This was a real twist to his original theory. How could they be acting if ENGLAND was in on it? Hadn't he been the one who sent him here in the first place? And England was not a good enough actor to fake the vibe of terror he gave off.

So what was the explanation? Arthur's stupid magic went wrong all the time, but this was something completely new. Did he know where Alfred was? If not, was he worried? America blinked. Why would he think about if Arthur was worried? He had more pressing issues, like the scary England now face to face with him.

"A stowaway is what the cabin boy told me. Is it true, Mr. Finn?" Yep, that was definitely England's voice, though it had none of the usual warmth and sarcasm. No, this man's words were cold and calculated, no time wasted and no need for anything comforting. "Yessir. George here found him below deck, sleeping on some of the crates." England's eyes hadn't left Alfred's face, trying to read this man who had somehow snuck onto his ship.

"So you thought you could catch a free ride on my ship? Do you have any idea who I am? Let him speak George, I want to know." Big George reluctantly let go of his prisoner who gulped in air. England raised a sword, pointing the tip right under Alfred's chin. "Now speak, or I shall cut you limb from limb and feed you to the sharks. Though that would be no fun." He followed this comment with a menacing grin, and Alfred swallowed. "What is thy name and how did you come to be aboard the 'Elizabeth'?" America breathed and looked straight at his old friend. He had no idea what was going on here, but he wasn't about to be bossed around by any version of England.

Deciding to refrain from mentioning 'America', he used his other name. "I am Alfred F. Jones. I don't know how I got on your stupid boat and I don't know why I'm here. So do you mind stop pointing your shiny little sword at my neck and tell me where the hell I am?" There, that sounded tough, right? Unfortunately England didn't agree. He laughed, loud and strong, with the rest of the crew joining in. What was so funny? "Because you and I have never met, I will let that lie slide. But now you know that I do not tolerate lying, so I suggest you tell me the truth. Do you work for that bastard France?"

Alfred almost laughed at this. He couldn't STAND France, there was no way he would ever work for him. But he held back his laughter because the look on England's face certainly did not invite him to scoff at his suggestion. "No way in hell would I work for FRANCE. And what a stupid question, could you cut the crap and explain what is going on here?" England was slightly taken aback by his bold statement, making Alfred feel rather smug. This didn't last long of course. "You insolent fool. You are aboard the great ship 'The Elizabeth', captained by one of the most feared pirates on the seven seas, Captain Arthur Kirkland. Now, tell me who you are."

Alfred sighed. He could not believe this was happening. He couldn't say what he was doing. He really didn't know himself. His silence was not welcomed of course. England's mouth curled up in a menacing smile, and the entire crew followed suite. "Then I suppose it's the plank for you." Everyone cheered, though Alfred's heart grew cold. Wait, what? "England, you KNOW me. It's Alfred, come on please! Cut the crap you ass!" George was back, and dragged him towards the side of the ship, where a few members of the crew were setting up a long wooden board. Man, I thought those were only in movies!

"Please England, I'm begging. Stop, you can't do this!" England's smile never wavered, those his cold eyes glinted with loathing. "I do not know who you are, but I assure you that I can indeed do this. Have a wonderful swim, Mister Alfred F. Jones, and thank you for entertaining my crew so. Pray the sharks get you before you drown; I've heard it's shorter and less painful!" He threw his head back and laughed, the crew joining in. The first mate forced him up onto the plank, jabbing him in the back with a sword. Alfred stumbled forward, careful not to lose his balance.

"You really have lost it this time, Arthur. If you think I'm going to jump into the freezing cold water by choice, you are-". He was cut off as England pulled one of his pistols and shot at his feet, barely missing him. "I won't miss next time. Jumping is the only chance you have." Alfred's eyes widened in horror. There was a hole where Arthur had shot. So that means the gun was real. Which meant…. Was it all real? WHAT?

More importantly, the captain seemed to be losing patience, and Alfred didn't want the next bullet to leave a hole in him instead of the plank. He turned to look at the water. If it was all real, that water would be unbelievably cold, but what choice did he have? As he stepped to the edge of the board, being egged on by a cheering crew, he looked back once more to see England smiling again, his eyes hard and emotionless. No pity, no remorse. Was this the man England had been so long ago? No wonder he never talked about it. Looking forward, Alfred took one last step to the edge of the plank, prepared to face the deadly ocean that waited for him below.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey, here's my next chapter. Sorry I keep doing cliff hangers. I like cliff hangers. Bear with me, this story is kind of slow getting started. I apologize if I bore you :P Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy!**

One foot hovering over the edge of the wooden board. Prepared to jump. And of COURSE something had to go wrong. A cannon fire could be heard from the opposite side of the ship, causing everyone to turn, even Alfred. From the other side, he could just make out a ship coming towards them, flying what seemed to be… oh no. England's face went from one of surprise to absolute furry at the sight of that flag. They had all been so preoccupied by Alfred's execution that they hadn't noticed the enemy ship fast approaching. "Everyone, to your battle stations. Enemy fire from the port side!" Not a single crew member questioned England's orders. Well, except Alfred. He remained standing on the end of the plank, unsure if he was still supposed to jump or what.

England looked back, surprised for a moment to see his prisoner standing complacently and unmoving. His surprise was quickly replaced with a scowl. "You must be a rather lucky man, Mister Jones." America raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes, so lucky to magically appear on a pirate ship, be forced to almost walk the plank, and then get fired upon by OTHER pirates. Great day for me, thanks." England smirked, unaffected by Alfred's sarcasm. "Well now you get to prove yourself. Help us fight off these blasted frogs, and we shall let you join the crew." Now both of America's eyebrows were raised. "Join your crew? Couldn't you just drop me off on some island and let me go?" England shook his head, still smiling and somehow managing to ignore the chaos around him. "No, you must pay for being a stowaway on my ship. It is that or die. Your choice."

With that, England gave a dramatic turn and walked to the helm- helm? - of the ship and began barking orders. Alfred sighed. Always with the theatrics, eh England? He glanced back at the glistening water. This was his last chance to jump, and at the moment, it almost seemed like the better option. But America was many things, and a coward was not one of them. The ship he happened to be on was being fired upon, and he was a hero, so he had to help. Besides, something inside him told him to protect England. Protect England? Seriously? That was not what he was doing. This was about being a hero, not about England, he tried to convince himself. This wasn't even his England, the calm, sophisticated man that had raised him and had just moments ago been telling him a story. And yet…

All thoughts of such things were knocked out of Alfred's head as the ship rocked with cannon fire, almost causing America to tumble off. Shit, it might be a good start to get off the edge. A few steps later and he was on the deck, surrounded by hustling and bustling pirates. The ship with the cursed flag drew closer and with every second the atmosphere on England's ship grew tenser. Cannons were being rolled to the edge of the rails, pointed at the oncoming ship, ready to blow it to smithereens. Unfortunately, it looked as though the English pirates were not expecting those to be enough because they drew their weapons as well. Swords, pistols, daggers, whatever they had they pulled out.

"Hey stowaway!" Alfred jumped as the voice of the first mate appeared behind him, afraid he would shove him overboard. Instead he smiled gruffly, handing Alfred a sword. "You're going to need this. Just don't stab any of us in the back with it, alright?" Alfred took the sword gingerly. It had been a VERY long time since he had done fencing. Semi-automatics and rifles were more his speed these days. Even in the old times, he had used muskets more than swords. But he felt confident he could use it, as long as the opponent wasn't too good. Which would prove to be a problem, as the enemy happened to be trained pirates (if you called plundering and looting "training").

Cannons went off from both of the ships, rocking the water beneath them. The two ships were right against each other now. "Fire!" This command was given by both England and the captain of the other ship, who was all too familiar to Alfred. Really, him? Every time! The two ships finally collided side by side and the pirates from both ships rushed the other, jumping back and forth between the two, fighting anyone who came even remotely close. The two captains wasted no time, as England grabbed a rope and swung to the other ship. Wow, that was SOOO badass! Since when did England know how to do that?

Again, Alfred's thoughts of England were quickly knocked away as an unknown pirate rushed at him, sword raised above his head. Hastily, America raised the sword to block the man's swing. Well, become a part of the crew it was then! Backing up, Alfred continued to block the man's rapid strokes, just barely stopping his attacks. He wouldn't be able to keep this up forever, and needed to get on the offensive quickly, before he lost too much ground and ended up cornered. Using an old technique that Arthur had shown him, he spun out of his block, ending up on his attacker's right side, exposed as he raised his sword again. A jab with the hilt of his sword caused the man to cry out, and lose his balance. The weapon was obviously too bulky for him and he needed that balance to use it. America continued to spin and jab, throwing the man more and more.

Finally, Alfred stopped and looked at the man. He was angry now, and not happy about losing his advantage. This made Alfred smile. This idiot had already lost; all he had to do was finish the job. Alfred moved forward, beginning his attack. Slashing and swerving, America forced his opponent backwards into the thick of the fighting. He spared a glance up at England on the other ship. England's grace as he fought was matched by no one, though his adversary came close. They were engaged in a deadly dance, their blades glinting in the sun. It really was breathtaking, though America would never tell Arthur that.

Returning his attention to his own fight, he finished off the other pirate with one swift clobber to the head. He sunk to the ground with a thud, bleeding from a large gash in his head. Most of the other men had taken out the rest of the other ship's crew, but no one was dead. Alfred was confused, thinking they would kill one another, but in the end, the crew from the other ship simply scrambled back to their own deck as England finally knocked the other captain's sword out of his hand. He loudly laughed as he proclaimed, "You have lost fairly, so I will spare you and your crew. For a price, of course." Surprisingly, the defeated man motioned to one of the sailors, who brought up a chest. "But of course, mon ami. As always."

Well that made sense. Those two, even today, were constantly making bets and going at each other's throats. Treasure chest in hand, Captain Kirkland wrapped his hands around a rope and, with a running start, swung back to his ship. "Until next time, Captain Bonnefoy. This will never be over." France grinned leaning on the rail. "I wouldn't dream of it any other way. Au revoir, Kirkland." Alfred shook his head. Some things really never did change. So what year was it? England and France were fighting as pirates still, so it had to be pretty far back. Were they just fighting, or was it a war? Too many unanswered questions filled America's head, and he had no time to answer them, for once the French ship was out of sight and the men settled down from their cheering and celebration, the whole crew-even England- seemed to suddenly remember he was there, and now had their eyes, cold and cruel, trained back on him. Now that the threat was gone, was he yet safe? If not, what was he going to do now?


	5. Chapter 5

**Ok, this one is kind of long but I couldn't skip anything so I was like, OH WELL. Please review, keep reading, and thanks to anyone who is reading this. Thank you to my dear friend doctorpotterhetaliafan35 for beta-ing (is that a word?) this chapter! Swing by her profile, her stories are da bombest. Hope you like this chapter!**

The silence was louder than anything anyone could have said. Alfred stood awkwardly, facing the men who wanted him dead. He shifted uncomfortably in place. Did they still want him dead? He didn't know anymore. England looked both amused and indifferent as his emerald eyes met Alfred's. A question waited to be answered in those eyes. What to do with our little stowaway now? Alfred tried to go for a smile, but fell short at the sight of the crew sharpening their swords. Alfred gulped. They could kill me now if they wanted to. Let's hope they don't.

Still contemplating, the captain turned to his crew, asking them. "We have won another battle with our enemy, but what shall we do with our friend here? He fought for us, but he is still a stowaway. What do you say, shall we let him live or have him jump?" A wicked smile was on his face now, as he liked both ideas. A little entertainment came with this man jumping, but a new crew member would be welcomed. Besides, there was something about this man that he liked, though he couldn't yet put his finger on it…

It was like seeing a picture of someone that you are sure you know, but there is this nagging feeling at the pit of your stomach. England's cold green eyes studied the blond man, straight at his face. He couldn't decipher it but there was something about the stowaway. England tapped his fingers on his cutlass. What to do...

The crew stared at Alfred, sizing him up. Another long silence followed, until the first mate stepped forward. "He held his own against the enemy. He seems like he is used to the finer things in life, so having him work on a pirate ship should be interesting, and much more of a punishment than killing him. I say he stays!" Some of the other men were nodding, so England addressed them all. "All in favor of Mister Alfred F. Jones remaining as a member of the crew say aye." Not as single voice was left out as they all shouted the affirmative. Though Alfred was happy they weren't going to kill him, he wasn't pleased that they were keeping him. It felt sort of ominous for some reason. It kinda reminded him of a wolf pack; they would let you in, just waiting for a reason to kill you. Alfred's eyes moved to each of them. Interesting my ass.

And what did 'used to the finer things' mean anyway? Was that an insult?

Satisfied, England strutted down the steps to face Alfred. "The choice is yours then, Mister Jones. Join or die?" The malice and wicked joy that gleamed from England's usually calm green eyes shocked America. Where was his old friend? Who was this evil man, who gave him the choice to die or become a pirate? By the look on his face, England knew he had won. He knew what Alfred's choice would be even before he said it. "I suppose I will join your crew then, if my only other option is getting eaten by sharks." He was surprised by how steady and nonchalant his voice had come out. Yep. Alfred risked a smile. Still got it. England's smile widened as the crew cheered. "Then come along, Mister Jones, to my cabin and I will explain exactly what happens on a pirate ship as you have probably never set foot on one."

Loud laughter shook the deck as England grabbed Alfred's shoulders and steered him to the door under the stairs, down a small hallway, and into a large room at the very back of the ship. Alfred barely had time to take in the scenery. He grumbled. I've been in a ship before. Damn pirates. Windows wrapped all the way around, lighting the room with the dying sunshine. Maps covered every wall and a huge wooden table covered in more maps and books sat in the middle of the space. A small bed was crammed in the corner, obviously not used very often as it was also covered in books, rope, spyglasses, maps, and letters. A few chairs were strewn here and there, but one large chair sat at the only clean part of the room; the desk. Not a single paper was out of place on that desk, completely organized compared to the rest of the room. This was certainly unlike his England, to leave a room so messy.

"Pull up a chair and have some ale while you're here, though you'll be getting a lot of that while with the crew." What no offer of tea? Seriously, this was just weird. "I've already been kind enough to let you live," the captain said as Alfred pulled over a chair. "But I really must know a few things. For one." England's voice was kind enough, but possessed a cold edge.

" Where on earth are you from? Your accent is like none I've ever heard. And you seem to know how to sword fight enough to defend yourself, but not enough to be a military man. You recognized me, but I have no knowledge of who you are. Everything I do seems to surprise you, like it's not something you would expect. So I will ask this once. " England's green eyes narrowed as he leaned in.

"Who are you?"

This threw Alfred for a loop. How could he answer? His eyes wandered around the room, searching for the words to say. After a few moments of silence, Alfred came back with. "I suppose that depends. What year is it?" He smiled at the pirate's surprised face, his eyebrows raising. "How long have you been a stowaway?" Laughing, Alfred sat back in his seat, getting more comfortable. " Nah, nothing like that. Trust me, the year changes everything." Narrowing his eyes, England replied, "1523." Alfred started choking on his ale, receiving a raised bushy eyebrow from his old mentor.

1523?

Alfred's mind throbbed. A small bead of sweat dripped down his cheek. England had NO interest in the new world yet, so he couldn't answer with America. So what to say?

Recovering from his choking fit, he leaned in, looked Arthur Kirkland, the 1500s British pirate, straight in the eyes and answered, "England." A quick moment of absolute astonishment flew over England's features, quickly covered by indifference. But it was there long enough to give Alfred the upper hand in the conversation. He was suddenly felt excited. Oh yes. If I play the mystery man card, we could be getting someplace. His secrecy was a challenge for the British man, and he planned to have a little fun with that. The mystery was part of the entertainment. Taking a relaxed pose on the chair, he snickered as the pirate stared in hidden disbelief. "England?" Alfred smiled smugly, crossing his legs. "Yes, I suppose long ago that's kinda of where it all began. I've been here and there since then. Been there, done that." Well, that would explain the un-placeable accent that sounded so rooted in English. Changed by years of travel. Alfred's grin widened. This was the perfect lie as it was laced with truth. All the best lies were.

"Well then. That explains where you are from. Now tell me where you were going that caused you to end up stowing away on my ship?" Alfred's cockiness slid off his face. Crap. There goes the perfect lie. He couldn't just say, "Oh I was with you, but you in the future, and you were telling me a story, and then I fell asleep and when I woke up, I was on your ship, apparently in 1523." Because that wouldn't land his ass over the plank.

Putting it lightly, it would not have gone over well. So he lied, a convincing lie that was more vague than anything. "Nowhere special. I was hoping a pirate ship would end up in some foreign, exotic land and I would get off and start another new life. Always staying in one place was getting old, and I wanted to go somewhere I had never been. I assumed a pirate ship would take me somewhere like that."

It sounded convincing enough for Alfred and England found himself believing it. He felt the same way sometimes. Maybe he should settle down and start a normal life. England leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. But he loved the sea and piracy far too much to stop yet, though he knew he would someday. England raised his feet on the table. It surprised him how easily he seemed to relate to this lonely traveler. England frowned a little.

Too easy.

Sighing, he crossed his arms staring at the blonde across from him.

"I suppose I will leave it at that. A man deserves some secrets, and you seem to be one who has many. Though I do look forward to figuring them all out. You certainly are a wonderful challenge, Mister Jones. I am glad we didn't kill you." How kind of him to say that, because not ten minutes ago, he was getting ready to feed him to the sharks. They hadn't seemed to have been talking for long, but the sky was now a soft pink as the sun began to sink over the horizon. England suddenly stood up, peering down on Alfred

"The men will be having supper soon. Join them. And.." He looked Alfred up and down, and then turned to a chest in the corner. He pulled out clothes at random. "Wear these. Your clothes are… I don't really have words for them. Strange would be putting it nicely." No surprise there, as he was wearing jeans. These wouldn't be in style for more than three hundred years. He motioned to a curtain by the bed. Alfred took the clothes, staring incredulously at England's hand. "What?" England rolled his eyes. "As much as I like you, I would prefer it if you changed behind the curtain."

Alfred grudgingly stood up and walked over to change, his heart suddenly beating faster. He said he liked me... but that's okay, right? Friends say that.

Right?

England watched the back of his new crew member, strange feelings flooding through him. Why did I say that I liked him? Crossing his arms stubbornly, he grumbled. It doesn't mean anything anyway.

Alfred started undressing and putting on the new ones. The pants were form-fitting and black, low riding with a thick leather belt with a sheath for a sword. The bottoms of the pants easily slid into the black boots, which Alfred bent down to buckle. The shirt was white, puffy and had buttons running down the front, but the top three were missing, exposing some of his chest. Muttering to himself, he tried to button the rest, finding out that most of them were defective. Grudgingly, he left the first five buttons open. That's not gonna a problem...right?

It was loose, but also hugged his thick, muscular torso in all the right places. Next was a long blue jacket with brass buttons down the front, and finally a red and white striped bandana. Alfred chuckled. Red, White and Blue even in 1523? Alfred tied this around his messy blonde hair and stepped out to show England.

Though he showed nothing but a raised eyebrow, England's heart began to beat faster. The shirt showed just enough to see that this boy had very distinguished muscles, and the low riding pants proved to be an excellent choice. I must have given him the shirt with broken buttons. England almost smiled.

Why was this man so tantalizing to him? He had never before thought so hard about what his crew members were wearing. Or how low his pants were...

Or if his shirt was missing buttons...

Hell some crew members didn't even wear shirts! Yet this particular one… he couldn't help but notice. His toned muscles, his bright blue eyes, his soft lips… He shook his head, bringing himself back to the present.

"Anyway, you will be up at dawn and will do whatever my first mate Finn tells you to do. No complaining, no objecting. You sleep when you're done working. That's basically all you need to know. Now go." England made his way across the room to his desk, pulling out one of his million maps, trying to focus on something else so as to forget the handsome boy standing in his cabin. He found himself standing in front of a map, strangely sticking pins in the unknown part of the map. England stared at that land, feeling this strong urge to find out what lay there. He waved it off. What could he find there anyway?

For some reason, America was disappointed that England hadn't said anything about his new look. Alfred bit his lip, fiddling with the buttons. Why should I care? He's England. It doesn't matter what he thinks.

Right?

When nothing happened for a minute, England turned, seeming to try to brush Alfred away like an annoying fly. "What part of 'Now go,' did you not understand?" And there was the old, grumpy England he knew so well. It struck Alfred how much he missed that England. As cool and exciting as this new Arthur Kirkland was, he wasn't Alfred's. Since when did Alfred actually WANT that cranky old man around? With a seemingly indifferent shrug of his shoulders, Alfred left and ran up onto the deck, where he was met by George.

"You made it out alive! Well done, he must like you." Now that he wasn't holding him in a choke hold, George seemed like an oversized teddy bear. "Come on then, stowaway. Dinner is served." Ruffling Alfred's hair, he pulled him below decks to where the men were all sitting at a long table, eating what looked like brown oatmeal. Alfred blanched. What the hell was THAT? "Oi mates! The stowaway is here!" Alfred huffed. This stowaway crap was getting old. "Come grab some grub!" They pushed him down on a chair and force fed him the slop. His taste buds had never been so violated. Alfred clamped his hands on his mouth. Oh GOD that was awful! Was that even food?! He never thought he would miss England's cooking, but he would have given anything for a scone right then.

As he spluttered, they all laughed. "Aye, gruel is an acquired taste!"

For about an hour the crew joked and laughed, and Alfred sat in silence trying to learn their names. There were the twins, Alonzo and Francesco, who were from Italy. Francesco was very happy and loved to talk, but seemed rather ditsy to Alfred. Alonzo was more reserved, but had a cold look in his eyes. There was the outspoken Prussian, who was the master gunner and yelled about how brave and amazing he had been earlier that day throughout the whole meal. "Is he always like that?" Alfred whispered to George. He laughed and nodded. There was Sammy, the cabin boy from Finland, and Finn the British first mate, and George from Spain, who despite his size, was praised by the others for his sword fighting and stealth. He had blushed and denied being any good, which had been a pretty funny sight. How often did you see a giant hulking dude blush? Pretty soon Alfred was laughing alongside them.

Though they were from all over the world, they all were in England at the same time, and all owed him something. None of them now owed anything; they stayed because they wanted to and were loyal to their brave captain. "He can be pretty intimidating, but I promise he grows on you! But do avoid mentioning anything about unicorns or fairies. It's a touchy subject…" George laughed out loud and slapped Alfred on the back, causing him to choke on the ale he was drinking. Damn it, that's the second time in one night. And it didn't taste any better in his windpipe. Alfred knew England would grow on him. He always does. But for some reason, this version of England seemed even more interesting than the grumpy one back in his own time. Though he missed his England, there was a certain quality that was easy to be intrigued by the guy. It was the swaggering walk and the eyes that brimmed with confidence that made you want to stare and step back. This one had almost no secrets, but that made him all the more... exciting.

Finally, all the men got up, and George dragged him over to the back of the ship, where there were some hammocks. They all clambered in and Finn blew out the lantern. Alfred barely managed to take of his coat and boots before was blind. After many failed attempts to get into the hammock in the dark, America finally pulled himself in, though it wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world. Then again, this entire ship wasn't the best thing in the world. He stared at the ceiling, wondering how he got into this mess. I mean, seriously, how does this stuff always happen to me? Before he gave into darkness that was sleep, before giving into his sudden fatigue, all he thought of his new captain, the stranger that he had known forever. England was so different in this time. What made him change? The man would throw a bitch fit if he didn't get his two sugars in his tea. But he was fine drinking from a dusty bottle. And why was America so interested by this man? The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. The aloof attitude, the leadership qualities, the skills as a captain and a sword fighter. Alfred found it… attractive. He liked the way the belt never seemed to find a place on his hips, sliding down, ever so suggestively...

Alfred jerked upward, startled by his own thoughts.

Oh God, what was happening here? Closing his eyes, Alfred silently wished that when he woke up the next day, he would hear the sound of rain, smell Earl Grey tea, and have his head still resting in the lap of his England, back home, in the library.

He wanted his England back.


	6. Chapter 6

**Another long one here, but it's really important. Thanks again to doctorpotterhetaliafan35 for reading and fixing this one. Love dat girl. Thanks for reading and please review. I love getting feedback and hearing your thoughts. **

At first when Alfred opened his eyes, he had no idea where he was. The dark wooden ceiling he was staring at was not familiar, and the stench of salt water and sweat was definitely not something he had in his house. Alfred became to panic slightly. Oh God...Did I get kidnapped? No?

So what the hell was..

Oh.

Right.

I'm on a pirate ship.

In 1523.

Captained by none other than Arthur Kirkland. Alfred groaned and rubbed his head. I was really hoping that had been a really crazy dream. "Ah, the stowaway is awake!" A loud voice startled Alfred as he turned to see George standing behind him. "About time too. You were about to miss breakfast." Alfred rolled his eyes, stepping out of the hammock. "If it's gruel again, I think I'll pass." George laughed. "Aye, tis a nasty food. But in a few days you'll be dying for any food at all!" With that George grabbed Alfred, and pushed him, barefoot, down the hall to the dining area. Alfred protested loudly. " Aw man, wait-hold- I'm not even wearing shoes!"

The man just laughed.

Everyone else was already there, yelling and laughing. Was this how every meal was going to be? Thrown out of bed by some crazy Italian ? Alfred rubbed his eyes and sat down next to the ditsy Italian brother, Francesco. "Ciao mio amico! How did you sleep?" Alfred was about to answer that he had slept horribly, but the boy's attention was already somewhere else, having a conversation with Finn. Shaking his head, Alfred stared at his food in silence. Yes, in a few days he would be hungry enough to eat it. But today was not that day. Groaning, he laid his head down on the table. This was gonna be a long day.

After breakfast, they all ushered him up onto the deck, where he was blinded by the sudden sunlight. Was it always this bright outside? "Cause you aren't a pirate really, I doubt you have much sailing experience." Finn didn't sound like he expected much from this new crew member. Alfred smiled. "I wouldn't say that. I'm no pirate, but I have done some sailing. What do you need done?" Surprised by the youth's eagerness, Finn pointed up. "The wind is good today, so we need to get the bigger sails loose. Think you can climb up there and untie them?" Alfred laughed, amused by the idea that he couldn't climb a mast. "Not a problem, that's easy!" Finn raised an eyebrow. Easy? No one has ever called climbing a mast 'easy' before.

Alfred ran over to the mast and grabbed on. Ok, so he hadn't done it in a while, so it took a few tries to get off the ground, but once he was up he made short work of getting to the top. Once there, he reached out and began undoing the knot that help the sail in place. Holy crap, who ties knots like this? After five minutes of struggling to untie the messy, disaster of a knot, the right side of the sail finally came undone. Moving to the other side of the main mast, Alfred began to quickly work on the other knot. After the first one, Alfred had some idea how to untie this one, and the left side of the sail came undone about three minutes later. The men at the bottom had grabbed onto the ropes at the ends and tied them down. From where he was perched, Alfred felt the ship lurch forward as the wind caught the sails.

Satisfied with his work, Alfred slid down the deck, where an impressed Finn awaited him. "Well done! Most people take forever to undo Francesco's knots. Usually they end up just cutting the rope." George walked over, with a somewhat terrifying look on his face. "Hey, now that's he's officially part of this rag-tag crew, he needs ink." Alfred's joking mood vanished in a second. Oh sweet Jesus, that did NOT sound good. Finn laughed as he saw the horrified look on Alfred's face. "Just a tattoo laddie. We all have one, and not cause the captain orders it. Just kinda something we started doin." Finn and George both pulled the collars of their shirts down to reveal a tattoo on their chests; a skull with a sword through the top of its head. Ok, creepy, but very pirate. Alfred gulped.

"Ummm, I don't know if that's such a good idea…" Alfred began to back away, but ran into the Prussian gunner Gustav. He grinned menacingly, saying "You either comply now, or we tie you down while you're asleep and give one to you then." Alfred chuckled weakly, trying to see if he was joking. The Prussian deadpanned.

There was no question. Glancing back at George, who nodded, Alfred sighed and hung his head. "Fine, but only because I would like to sleep without fear at night." George whooped and ran to get whatever pirates used to give people tattoos. Alonzo, who was in the crow's nest, looked down and shook his head. His idiot crew members, wasting their time. Still, watching this inlander become a pirate was pretty funny.

Finn pulled up a chair and opened Alfred's shirt. Dammit, he probably just broke any buttons that were working to begin with. George returned with a needle and black ink. Alfred gave a mangled yelp. Holy CRAP this was not going to be fun. Finn tried not to laugh while he handed him a piece of cloth. "Here, you're going to need this. Bite down so you don't scream." Alfred's eyes widened to the size of saucers as his heart stopped. SCREAM? He breathed, trying to relax. I'm a hero, he told himself. I can deal with getting a tattoo from a bunch of ferocious pirates in the 1500s. Why not? They didn't have a clue about bacterial infections? Pshh bring it on.

Biting down on the cloth, he nodded for George to start. Sweat dripped down his cheek in the blazing sun.

It was worse than he thought. This was a very old, crude way to give people tattoos and it basically involved carving into their skin and filling in the lines with ink. Alfred was thankful for the cloth, as he would have been screaming like a child without it. (though he would never admit it). Finally, about an hour later, George sat back. "Done. You ok?" Alfred blinked back the tears that were about to fall, removing the cloth with his left hand. "Peachy. Just. Peachy. " he croaked. The entire crew fell over laughing, even Alonzo in the crow's nest. "You'll be fine in a few hours. Welcome to the crew, Mister Jones!"

They worked for the rest of the day, cleaning the deck, steering the ship, manning the sails. Much to Allred's disappointment, England didn't come up on deck all day. He questioned George about this. "He doesn't come up very often. Prefers to stay alone and plan." Alfred strangely was sad at this; he had wanted to see England. Why, he couldn't say. There was something alluring about his new captain, and he wanted to see more of him.

What the men had said was true; his chest stopped hurting by the time they were done with dinner. He glanced in a piece of silver below deck and saw that despite the pain, it had come out really cool. It was a skull with a sword stabbed downward through its head, just like the rest of the crew. That was gonna be hard to explain when he got back to his time. If he got back. This worried America. Would he ever be able to return to his time, his England? As exciting as this England and time was, he wanted nothing more than to return home. Alfred fell asleep the second he was back in his hammock. It had been a really long day with a lot of hard work. Absolute exhaustion enveloped him as he slid into sleep.

Day after day passed in basically the same way. Alfred would wake up at the crack of dawn and be dragged to breakfast. After the third day, he gave into his hunger and forced down some gruel. It was awful, but it was food. Then they would run up onto the deck and begin the day's work. Each day was a little different; cooking the "food", steering the ship, being lookout in the crow's nest, cleaning the deck, manning the sails. Although it was repetitive, no day was the same. Alfred soon found the shirt heaven sent. With his fair skin, he burned in direct sunlight and there was no aloe vera in 1523. Despite the precautions to his skin, it was no longer so white, but becoming a lightly tanned bronze. Alfred's muscles became more toned after lifting the heavy ropes. The bandana helped soak up the excess sweat. He sweat a lot.

England still didn't come up much, and when he did, it was to talk to Finn. Alfred was always a little disappointed that England never spoke to him, but then again he didn't know the half of what Arthur was thinking.

For one, the first day England came on deck since Alfred got his tattoo, it was the first thing he noticed. The skull and sword that all his crew had was now prominently displayed on his newest crew member's well-formed chest. The shirt he was wearing now had even fewer buttons, showing almost his entire chest, though he stubbornly continued to button anything that still worked. He tattoo was breathtaking against his sun-kissed tan skin and England had to do everything in his power to refrain from staring. His muscles were full on display. England decided to not come up so often. It would have been much too obvious.

Day after day continued, and Alfred began to enjoy himself. He started to love the feeling of the ocean breeze that ruffled his hair, and the crew that constantly had him in stiches. What he liked most though, was when England was up on deck. Even if they didn't speak, just watching him was perfect. The captain seemed absolutely content to stand at the rail and stare out at the horizon for hours. His bright green eyes seemed to reflect the ocean and shine with the sun. When he was alone, he dropped his malicious look and simply looked… happy. What could have made this man become the England back home? What made him give up this life, the one that made him so happy?

Finally, one day England rushed onto the deck looking thrilled about something. He ran to the main mast and called everyone's attention. "Oi! In three hours, a Spanish merchant ship by the name, 'The Trinidad,' will be passing through this channel. They are officially transporting spices to Scotland, but there is a huge shipment of under-the-table gold being brought to France along the way. Unfortunately for my dear France, we will be the ones with the gold by the time to day is out. Everyone ready for a fight?" Everyone cheered, even Alfred, because England simply made it sound like an adventure. The gleam of excitement in his eyes was contagious. They didn't even know about this ship until a few minutes ago, but it felt like they had been waiting for it forever.

Sails were raised, the Jolly Roger was lowered and replaced with a universal merchant's flag, and George pulled Alfred aside to explain what would happen. "Because of the common flag, the Spanish ship will see nothing wrong. We will wave to them like we need help and as they dock next to us, we spring em. Try to avoid killing anyone; nobody likes a mess. We just want the money, alright? You'll get a share of whatever we end up with. The captain is very fair when it comes to splitting the loot." Alfred was intrigued to see England sword fight again, though he was pretty worried about actually doing any fighting himself.

About three hours later, Francesco called down from the crow's nest, "Merchant ship approaching from the east!" Everyone sprang into action, sharpening swords and loading pistols. England calmly stared out over the sea. This was what he lived for. The plan, the chase, and the catch. The money and treasure they ended up with was a bonus to him. It was all about the fun. He glanced back at his crew, a little fearful for his newest member. Alfred looked out of place, even with his pirate clothes and tattoo. The sword looked awkward in his hands and he obviously didn't know what he was doing. He would have to do something about that. Frowning a little, England turned back to the approaching ship as his men began screaming and waving, hoping they would think they were in trouble and needed help.

As expected, the merchant ship came and hooked itself to the pirate ship, completely unaware of the danger. One by one, the crew of England's vessel crossed to Spanish ship until finally England followed as well. Grinning smugly, he walked to the captain of 'the Trinidad'. "We are ever so grateful for your help. You must be very kind to help strangers. Maybe you should change your policy of helping someone in trouble. Because you see... " England pulled out his sword and grinned. "We are the trouble." He pointed the sword at the captain's shocked face. The crew all followed suite, pointing them at the nearest Spanish sailor. " And you can't save yourselves, can ye? Hand over the goods and I'll let you keep your heads. Savvy?"

After a moment of shocked silence from their opponents, the Spaniards growled and drew their own swords. Sighing, England chuckled . " Oh now this. This is going to be fun."

With that he lunged forward, swinging his sword down on the other captain. With that, the pirate crew all jumped on the sailors. Even Alfred got into it, though he made it a point to go after the smaller members. He watched his fellow pirate's from the corner of his eye. George had gone after a large gunner, a man even bigger than George himself. At first it looked like he was in trouble, as the Spanish man had two broadswords to fight with, but George wasn't praised as the best swordsman on 'the Elizabeth' for a reason. Finn had gone after two smaller men and was making short work of them with his daggers. The Italian brothers were basically just using their fists with some sword thrusts in between. Alonzo was very intent on what he was doing while Francesco was basically just destroying everything in his path, blindly swinging his sword and fists.

Gustav was more of a gun user, so he was above them on the mast, firing his pistols every few minutes. Sammy Johnson, the cabin boy, was hiding back on the pirate's ship, and was not allowed to come out until the fighting was over. So England did have a heart. Surprise surprise. After knocking out three small sailors, Alfred was feeling pretty good about himself, until he turned around to see a white shirt blocking his way. Huh? The shirt belonged to a huge sailor, who looked at Alfred cracking his knuckles .He was holding a sword the size of Alfred's entire body. Now he was in trouble. Alfred chuckled sheepishly. Aw shit.

England was entirely focused on his fight with the merchant captain. He knew he would win as the man was already tiring out, but it was taking longer than he expected. He was much more resilient that most merchants, but not even close to France. England spared a glance down to his crew, mostly pleased with their work. More than half the sailors were out cold, and those who weren't would be soon. All was well... until he saw Alfred. Dear God that man was the size of a WHALE! There was no way Alfred would be able to fight him and win. Turning his entire attention back to the Spaniard, he narrowed his eyes and breathed. He would have to finish this fight fast so he could help Alfred. For whatever reason, the idea of having him die was unbearable. No time to dwell on those feelings now. He had a captain to attend to.

Alfred was on the defensive, with no way to get an advantage. His enemy was not giving him any openings, and could use his giant weapon with ease. It was all Alfred could do to raise his sword to block each heavy blow, and he was getting tired. It wouldn't be long before he broke through his defenses. There was no plan, nothing to work with. Alfred felt the rail of the ship stab him in the back. Nowhere to run now . Finally he collapsed under the pressure of the man's downward blows. Now on his knees, he lifted his sword over his head, hoping to ward of as many blows as he could. About ten strikes later, the other man's sword sliced his hand. A wave of pain made him lower his guard. "Gahhh!" he shouted. The monster of a man took this opportunity to knock Alfred's sword to the side. Raising his now bleeding hands, hoping to stop the worst of the final blow, Alfred rolled his eyes. Seriously, he was going to die… in the past? Thanks for nothing, England.

Just as he was thinking this, the sword came down.

But it didn't hit him. It stopped, and clattered to the floor. With wide eyes, the giant collapsed as well, falling on his side. Alfred uncovered his face to see the grinning face of none other than Arthur Kirkland, pirate captain of 'the Elizabeth', holding the pistol he had just used to knock out the giant. "Well. That was inconvenient." He kicked his sword back to Alfred. "Now stand up and pretend I had nothing to do with this." He walked away briskly quickly knocking out three more sailors in his path. Alfred was stunned. What… did England just save his life? And then pretend it didn't happen? Since when was either version so selfless and caring? Wait.. WHAT?

Alfred stood up just as the last Spanish man sank to the floor. The pirate's cheered as England addressed them. "Another battle won boys! Gustav, Finn, go below decks and see what you can gather." Saluting their captain, they rushed below decks. George, whose right cheek was bleeding, came over and slapped Alfred on the back. "Aye, you survived! Well do-" He then noticed the giant man at his feet and his eyes widened. "Holy crap, did you… you are the most amazing inland pirate I have ever seen!" Alfred motioned to cut him off. "Actually it was…" He glanced at England who said nothing. His emerald eyes simply stared back, shining with an unknown emotion. And then he roguishly winked.

Alfred shut his mouth. "Now stand up and pretend I had nothing to do with this."

That was what England had told him.

Well, he could do that. Though it was weird that England had been the hero this time, not him. England… his hero. The handsome, rugged pirate that had threatened to kill him was now his hero. The man that Alfred couldn't take his eyes off of, who seemed more at ease alone with the sea, who could stare at the complacent ocean for hours. He gave this man a small nod and a wide smile. A thank you. Then he turned and made his way across to the other ship again.

That smile made Arthur's heart speed up. That sweet, silent thank you. Of course, there need be no thanks. There was no way he would let one of his crew members die. At least that's what he tried to convince himself it was about. But it was so much more. This was not just any crew member to him. He needed this man, and he would do anything to save him. Anything at all…

Finn and Gustav returned with three chests filled with gold, jewels, and coins. Back on 'the Elizabeth', the twins unhooked the merchant ship and shoved it off. The men would all wake up soon, and they needed to be long gone by then. Before sharing the treasure, the crew hoisted the sails and turned westward, sailing out into the setting sun. Once they could no longer see the Spanish ship, England opened the chests, allowing the men to take whatever they wanted. Alfred was surprised. Didn't the captain usually take what he wanted first? George saw his surprise and explained, "I told you he was fair. He takes nothing until we are satisfied. He doesn't do this for the reward. For him, it's all about the challenge." Now that sounded like England.

Alfred really had no need for the gold, but he took a few pieces. The only thing he really wanted was a gold chain. How fitting for a pirate. A few gold coins and a gold chain. That was all he took. The other men basically destroyed two of the other chests, but refused to even touch the third. "That's for the captain. The whole thing. Because that's what's fair to us." Wow, talk about loyalty. They ate some food they had taken from the Spanish ship that night. Alfred had never known how good salted beef was before that night. Even England sat and drank with them that night, though he seemed somewhat lost in thought the whole time. Near the end of the meal, he slipped a piece of paper to Alfred. Being very nonchalant, he read it under the table. "_Midnight tonight. Wait until they are asleep. The deck-bring a sword._" With this, England told the crew he would be leaving, and walked down to his cabin, leaving America to ponder what was going on. On one hand, he could be punished for needing saving on the merchant ship. On the other, seeing England alone in the moonlight… he couldn't help but be excited. Alfred stopped mid chew. That sounded... Strangely wrong in his mind.

Alfred shrugged. Oh well.

It seemed like forever before the crew decided to go to sleep. Finally they headed to the hammocks, pulling Alfred along. With a few more congratulatory slaps on the back and a couple of bandages on his sore hands, they blew out the lantern and drifted off to sleep. Now Alfred didn't have a watch, but he assumed he had about an hour to wait until midnight. The minutes ticked by. He couldn't wait to see England in the moonlight, to see his bright eyes shine with the sea, to see the breeze rustle his hair, to see his quirky smile, or frown, or scowl. Really anything his mouth wanted to do was perfect to Alfred…. Alfred paused again.

That also sounded wrong.

Hmm...

Finally he couldn't wait anymore. He got up and pulled on his boots. He put on the broken shirt, but didn't even try to button anything this time. It wasn't worth it, and maybe, just maybe, he wanted England to see his chest…Alfred jerked back.

No. Of course not. Why would he? That would be weird. Right? Shaking his head at his crazy thoughts, Alfred moved silently through the lower deck to the ladder that led up to moonlight to meet his captain.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ok this one is kinda short compared to the last two, but I can honestly say it was the most fun to write. Like dead serious right now, I have never enjoyed writing anything before as much as this chapter. Hope you guys like it as much as I did. Thanks to doctorpotterhetaliafan35 for beta-ing again! **

The sound of his beloved ocean hitting crashing against the ship was the only thing that kept Arthur calm. He didn't know what he had been thinking when he asked Alfred to meet him here tonight. It had been a spur of the moment decision, and now that he looked back on it, a poor one. What if he didn't come? More importantly, what if he didn't want to? These thoughts ran through England's mind in the minutes before midnight, hoping against hope that his Alfred would choose to come.

The sea was calm and quiet and the moonlight reflected off of it, giving it a soft glow that was absolutely entrancing. The waves lapped on the hull, hitting it with a soothing thud. England closed his eyes, trying to savor the last moments he had alone. The captain couldn't seem to shake this feeling; it was as if all his body was on edge. He ran his fingers over the wood of the railing. He was having an intense inner battle. Whatever this feeling was, he had to get it in control.

But Alfred F. Jones noticed none of this as he stepped onto the deck. All he saw was the dark outline of a figure, leaning over the rail of the ship, his hair flying back with the breeze and his piercing eyes shining with the moon. The man he had come to meet that night, staring out at the unknown, contemplating what could be around the next corner. Was he thinking of the crew member he had asked to meet him there tonight? Who knew? hisgreen emerald eyes showed almost no emotion, a steely mask on his face. The man was a mystery. Was he thinking about me? Alfred hoped so.

"I hope you didn't ask me to bring a sword so that you wouldn't have to kill an unarmed man. My body is kinda hard to hide,y'know?"

England gave a small smile, still facing the ocean. So he came. His sarcasm was less annoying and more endearing, and his voice sounded pleasant on England's ears. He liked Alfred's voice, presence, even his cowlick. Why was Arthur so caught up in this stranger, a man whose secrets kept England puzzled?

" Not at all. I thought you could use a little help in the sword-fighting department. I won't always be there to save you."

America blushed as England turned to face him, making Arthur's heart beat faster. Seeing his face flush pink was absolutely gorgeous, making England feel lightheaded. It was perfect.

"I should thank you for that. You didn't have to help me." Rolling his eyes, England stepped towards Alfred. "Of course I did. You are part of my crew, and thus my responsibility. Besides, my men would not have been happy if you ended up dead; they seem to have grown rather attached to you." England stared down into the sea blue eyes of the man, his heart pounding.

And so have I.

Alfred laughed, a loud sound that made England want to melt. "So you are going to teach me to sword fight?" How fitting. England had been his teacher all those years ago, and here they were again. Teacher and student. Mentor and that all they were? England gestured to the center of the deck where the moon shone the brightest.

The two men stood across from one another as Arthur began to speak. "The first rule is to never underestimate your opponent. You can't know what they have accomplished, no matter how skilled they look. For example, when I first saw you, I didn't expect you to survive without help as long as you did on that merchant ship." He smirked as Alfred scowled. Way to be supportive. "Next, have your sword drawn before engaging an enemy. Drawing your sword takes precious time that could give you an upper hand." With this, he drew his sword and gestured for Alfred to do the same.

Taking the hilt of his sword in his hand, Alfred pulled out the sword. He winced as the metal rubbed against the bandages covering the cuts on his palms and fingers. This was going to be much more difficult with an injury. England tsked as he walked over to Alfred. "You're holding it all wrong. Here-" He walked behind Alfred and put his hand over the younger man's, changing his hold on the hilt. Alfred shuddered slightly as he felt England's breath on his neck and his hand over his. His brilliant emerald eyes looked determined and confident and focused entirely on the hilt of the sword.

Finally satisfied with his hold on the sword, England moved back across from Alfred. "Now we work on your stance. The key to fencing is balance. Make sure your feet are spread apart, at least as wide as your shoulders. Keep your elbows bent and close to your body to avoid giving your opponent any openings." Alfred did as he was told, and England nodded, satisfied with the man's progress.

"From what I've seen, your actual strokes and parries aren't that bad, they just need practice. So let's practice." England stepped back some, his sword glinting mercilessly in the moonlight. Alfred gulped at the devilish grin on his captain's face. "Ok… but don't kill me, alright?" This only succeeded in making England's grin even larger. " I wouldn't dream of it." Yeah right. A few weeks ago, he had been perfectly prepared to throw his ass off a plank, but now there was no possible way. For whatever reason though, Alfred believed him. Trusting a pirate? That was a new one.

Alfred's train of thought was interrupted as England lunged forward. He barely had time to jump out of the way. "Hey! I thought you weren't trying to kill me!" Arthur smirked. "I'm not. You are simply distracted. Now focus." He lunged again, and this time Alfred was more prepared. Using his blade, he swatted the pirate's attack to the side and lunged in for his own attack, only to have his opponent twist to be behind him. How the hell…. "It is important to get on the offensive, but always calculate your moves. Making a hasty attack will leave you defenseless in the back; and easy target for any competent swordsman."

Returning to face Alfred, England lunged again. This time, Alfred raised his blade and easily blocked the attack, then blocked another. And another. He felt like he was doing the opposite of what he should be, but England simply smiled. Keeping his eyes forward, Alfred began to read England's tactics. He mostly knew the types of attacks the Arthur from his time would use, but this younger man was less sophisticated and more… wild. It was breathtaking either way, but trying to read this man's system of attacks was hard. Mostly there WAS no system.

Eventually, Alfred saw an opportunity to turn the fight around and took it. England seemed surprised as Alfred spun around behind him and jabbed him in the ribs with the hilt of his blade. He recovered quickly, but the fight had become much more evenly matched as Alfred had figured out some of England's movements. It helped that he was a little like Alfred's England. The same basic weak spots remained, even in this time.

The two went back and forth for hours, but Arthur always won. America would have his sword knocked aside, and England would tell him what to do better next time. Alfred never got frustrated though. He knew once he understood everything that the lesson would be over and his time with the captain cut short. For some reason, England didn't want to leave either. He loved the breeze that the deck offered, but he loved the one on one time with Alfred even more. The way he moved, his hair flying as he jumped from side to side, the way his shirt wasn't buttoned at all now…

The way his pants simply refused to stay on his hips. Arthur must have been very distracted by his pants, when Alfred lunged with the blade. England barely had time to block it and inflict a jab of his own. Arthur grit his teeth. I have to keep my focus now.

It was about three in the morning, and England knew sun would be rising soon. They would have to leave , and it confused him how disappointed he was about that. Sighing, he looked over at the youth. "One last time and we should call it a night. Are you ready?" Alfred was panting, but he nodded, determined to win this last one. Lunging forward, Arthur and Alfred began their deadly dance under a lightening sky. The moon still shone and the stars gleamed around them, but the sun was threatening to peak over. The pair spun and twirled around the deck, up the stairs to where the wheel was, making use of the whole space. Neither now had a clear upper hand and it was by far the most exciting duel of the night. England was surprised at his fast progress. He must have already known most of it, just not done any in a while, but he couldn't help but feel a little proud of his prodigy.

Finally, England slipped up. He left an opening on his right side and Alfred noticed. He spun out of a block and took his old mentor by surprise. He now had the upper hand in the fight, the first time that night. England was on the defensive, slowly backing up towards the rail of the ship. America was now the own smiling, while England tried to recover from each blow. Just as the first ray of sunlight peaked over the far off horizon, Alfred knocked England's sword aside and pointed the tip of his own blade at the captain's throat.

The surprise on Arthur's face was priceless. "How did you… " Alfred simply smiled, eyes brimming with excitement and pride. He had beaten England. ENGLAND! His excitement was cut short though, as he remembered that his current England was a rather sore loser. If he threw a fit in the present day… what was the pirate version do? His green eyes narrowed as he moved closer to Alfred. "You did well. But you forgot one fundamental part of sword fighting. Just because the opponent doesn't have a sword," England wrapped his boot around the back of Alfred's knees and pulled forward, causing him to fall to the deck right on his back, "doesn't mean they can't still fight." Now England was smirking.

Not fair, Alfred thought. I so won. To prove his point, he looked up as the British man began to walk away. "Then I suppose you forgot another rule, Captain. Never underestimate your enemy." He grabbed England's ankle and pulled, causing a surprised captain to collapse.

Directly on top of Alfred.

Neither man spoke. They could barely breathe as their eyes met. England's heart was beating faster than ever before and he could barely keep himself supported. His hands had landed on either side of Alfred's head and they were the only thing keeping him from falling onto the young man. He had to stand up, try to brush the whole thing off, but he was captured by Alfred's huge sky blue eyes. They wouldn't let him turn away, wouldn't let him go.

Alfred was also seeking a way out for the both of them. It was his fault they ended up in such an awkward position and he wanted to fix it. But he couldn't move. He couldn't help but feel that it wasn't awkward at all. That it was… right. How could he think that? It was the most horrible, unexpected, awful thing that could have happened. And yet, as he looked into Arthur Kirkland's deep, confusing green eyes, he couldn't help but think that he never wanted to look away.

In absolute silence, they stared at each other, neither moving,neither breathing. What were they supposed to do next? Alfred knew what people in the movies would do. But this wasn't a movie. This was England, the man who raised him, cared for him. The man he had turned away from and betrayed. And yet, here was a new chance. A chance to love this man again but in a different way. So why not give in to what he was feeling? Why not?

Reaching up, Alfred slid his hand behind Arthur's neck, loving the look of surprise on his face. England was shaking with anticipation and a little fear. What was he going to do? His smooth hands felt warm and inviting on the back of his neck, and the innocent, childish look on his face made his heart melt. His thoughts were cut off as Alfred pulled his neck down, causing him to lose the support with his hands, landing him on his elbows. Their faces were now less than an inch apart. Their mouths were barely moving, lips open slightly. Their eyes never leaving the other's.

Alfred finally closed the space between them, bringing his soft lips to meet England's. At first he was afraid that this wasn't what England wanted, but soon he was returning the kiss. Lips pressed together under the rising sun, the two men from different times finally gave into what they had desired for a long time. Both had their eyes closed now, silently taking in what was happening. The presence of one another was all they felt, the soft feeling of the other's lips pressed against their own.

Alfred's heart was about to burst. He finally had Arthur to himself, with no one around. They were perfectly alone. He could smell the sea in England's hair and taste the salt on his lips. This man that he had known forever and that he barely knew at all, who lived and breathed for the ocean and an adventure was now kissing him, holding him in place, keeping him from leaving. Keeping him there with him.

England's brain had stopped functioning. What was he doing? How could this have happened? How did he let it happen? But all of these thoughts were secondary, in the back of his mind. All of his focus was on the lips that were crashed against his own, the slightly spicy taste of this man's mouth, the feeling of Alfred's hand on the back of his neck. It didn't matter of it was right. It felt so good.

England wrapped his hand around Alfred's neck, not breaking the kiss, and pulled him into a sitting position. Now Alfred's other hand moved to join the first behind his head, pulling him closer. England moved both hands down to his crew member's exposed chest, tracing the muscles and simply soaking in the man he had so long admired from afar. All was absolutely perfect.

Until the sun rose.

A beam of sunlight hit Alfred in the right eye, causing him to pull away slightly. England opened his eyes, staring at the man whom he had just been kissing. It hit him like a bullet what had just happened. Oh God… England spared a glance over the ocean to see the rising sun. It was so very late. Alfred's hands were still wrapped around England's neck. What was wrong? His face seemed very alarmed. Turning back to America, Arthur shook his head and removed his crew mate's hands from the behind his head. "It's very late...ah... you should...um... get going. Before, you know..um...the crew…" He hastily stood, leaving Alfred on the deck staring up in shock.

England rushed down the stairs to the hall below the wheel, glancing back only once to say "Goodnight." As he rushed into his cabin it took all his willpower to not repetitively slam his head on his desk. How. How could I just run away from that? How could I leave him sitting there, alone, without an explanation? Am I such a coward that I can't face what I have done?

England sank into chair, burying his face in his hands.

Alfred was still sitting on the upper deck in stunned silence. What the hell was THAT? Just run off, with nothing to say about the night before? And he hadn't he said anything to England either? An apology for getting him into this whole mess? Nothing at all. How could he do that, after everything? How could either of them?

Slowly standing, Alfred made his way back below deck. He wondered what England thought of him now. Does he think I'm a coward? Will we ever be able to fix this? Thinking about that last statement, another question arose. Did he want to go back? That kiss… had been everything he wanted. And he wanted it again. Sitting up in his hammock a little straighter, he decided he wouldn't let them go back; only forward. He would convince Arthur Kirkland that whatever reason he left wasn't a good one, that they could be together. And he wouldn't take no for an answer.


	8. Chapter 8

Day after day went by and neither Captain Kirkland nor Mister Alfred F. Jones could bring themselves to speak to the other. Or even look at each other. They passed by without a glance acknowledging the other's existence. They both assumed that this silence was the other ignoring him, suggesting that what had happened on the night of their sword practice had been a mistake; an unintended accident that destroyed their growing friendship. It was a vicious cycle of mixed messages and the lack of communication. Neither man could bring themselves to say anything to the other, and it didn't go unnoticed by the crew.

First mate Finn was the first to notice. His captain seemed more guarded and quiet than he had in a long time. This would be hard to tell from the expressionless captain, but Finn knew this man longer than anyone; something was troubling him. Finn watched him from a distance, pretending to clean the floor. As a matter of fact, he hadn't been this sullen since that stowaway showed up. The weeks had been long before then, and few exciting things had happened, so finding a new sense of entertainment had really brightened the pirate up. But it seemed to be more than that. Finn paused. Arthur had gotten very friendly with the boy, really smiling for the first time at a person. When they talked it was friendly sarcasm and witty banter between the two, and though he pretended to hate it, Finn knew England liked the challenge presented by the traveling youth. England glanced at said youth who happened to stride by, and then looked away scowling. Finn grinned to himself. There was definitely something with them. And he was going to fix it.

George noticed it also from Alfred. The two of them had gotten rather close as George was usually the one to show people the ropes, and George had picked up on his conflicted feelings for their captain. The way he stared when he thought no one was looking. The strange way his face controted when only England was around. It looked as if he was holding in something that hurt him and excited him. It was obvious. But strangely, it all stopped. Alfred seemed to keep his head down whenever England was around, and they avoided one another like the plague. George watched as the man carried bundles of rope around the deck. What had happened? What had changed? No one asked though. The crew was too afraid of England, and they knew that if the mysterious Alfred wouldn't reveal where he was from, then he certainly wouldn't say anything about his emotional problems.

They tried to stay busy. England stayed below decks, working on anything he could get his hands on, staring at maps and papers and books for hours. But it never worked for long. His brain would get bored and wander back to that night. That one perfect night that had ended in such horrible silence. A silence that was eating away at him. Nothing he did could ever make him forget, so he kept flashing back to it, seeing his dear Alfred's huge, blue eyes and feeling his lips pressed against his own. Sighing, he would return to his work, wishing nothing had ever happened between the two of them. Ever since that man came into his ship, life had never been so confusing. England sadly smiled. Or so amazing.

Alfred worked hard at cleaning the deck, cooking, manning the sails and basically anything that could keep him busy. Anything that would distract his mind, keep it from wandering to that sea blown hair, or emerald eyes...

He refused to work with any one on his swordplay though. He couldn't bring himself to learn from anyone but England. It reminded him too much of that memorable night. The air between them was tangibly uncomfortable and it hurt him that they couldn't figure anything out between the two of them. He hated this unsure feeling, where you are stuck in this in-between place. Why couldn't they just… Just what? Go back to the way things were? No. He refused to let that be the case. It didn't matter what England this was, he wanted that feeling. That one special moment had been one of the best of his life and he planned to get that feeling back, no matter what it took.

The days turned into weeks and still nothing happened. How long had America been in the past? How long would he be here? Now that he didn't even have this England, he wanted his own back all the more. Was the Arthur Kirkland from his time missing him? Was he looking for him? God, Alfred wanted nothing more to be back in his library with that giant cup of hot cocoa and the sound of the rain on the window. If he could only go back…

Finally, the crew ran out of food. They would have to stop off in one of the islands nearby. A port city called Mortare Bay lay just to the west, so Finn approached his downcast captain to suggest a break from the sea. "We are out of food, and need to replenish some supplies as well. Besides, the men are getting restless. A good bar fight should bring them to ease." There was another reason Finn wanted to land. He kept his face, but internally he was grinning. This could be it!

England barely nodded, continuing to stare out at the horizon. Well, that was enough for Finn to get the crew into action. "Men! We are stopping in Mortare tonight! Lower the sails and set a course for our dear friend Amira's tavern, the Swine and Ale!" Looking up for a moment from the rope he was working on, Alfred asked George, "Who's Amira? "The Spanish pirate smiled, saying "Amira is the lovely lady that runs a tavern known as 'The Swine and Ale' in the port city of Montare Bay. She is from the country of Hungary and is quite a pretty little lady. The tavern is a working business but it's mostly just a front. She sympathizes with pirates and most of her customers are the scum of the sea. She puts them up for the night and gives them supplies as long as they pay well. And we would never try to cheat her. No one dares. She has this spoon… goodness. And her partner is an Austrian man by the name of Tobias. He is the entertainment and plays a damn mean piano!"

Alfred managed to pull a small smile as the crew's excitement mounted. He couldn't help but feel his spirits lift just a bit. To be on dry land again would be nice, and having better food than gruel for once was going to be a blessing sent from heaven. Just as he was beginning to get excited as well he glimpsed England on the upper deck, leaning over the rail alone, looking out to the distance with no emotion on his face. Alfred immediately remembered all his woes and sat down again, trying to focus entirely on his knots and work again, to forget the man he so desperately wanted back.

A few hours passed as the ship rushed westward. Eventually, Gustav yelled down from the crow's nest that he could see land. Everyone, even England, smiled a bit. As much as he loved the sea, the tension on the ship had been mounting for too long. He needed to walk away for a while, to step back and not worry for even a moment. Maybe then he could sleep at night and not think about the young stowaway that had quickly stolen his heart.

As the ship docked, the men rushed to bring the sails down and lock everything away. They all wanted to get some real food and drink for once, not the sea rations they had survived on for so long. A lone figure approached the ship as the crew rushed off. As it grew nearer, they realized it was a woman with long brown hair and an inviting smile. England walked to meet her, managing a small smile to the beautiful girl that so often gave him and his crew refuge. "Miss Amira. A pleasure as always." He bowed slightly, kissing her hand. She blushed and rolled her eyes.

"Oh come now England. A polite pirate is almost worse than a normal one. A polite one is usually after something." Her words were joking but seemed reinforced by personal experience. Her soft voice was soothing yet sharp at the same time. She could obviously be very sweet when she wanted to be, and very rough when she had to. She was someone to like and fear at the same time. Much like a pirate. Maybe that's why she liked them so much. So very like her.

Alfred immediately liked her too. She led them straight off the pier, down a few alleys to a dumpy yet warm looking tavern. A sign above the door said, 'The Swine and Ale'. Piano music was pouring out of the windows and drunken sailors could be heard cheering, yelling and laughing. The whole place screamed life and managed to immediately raise everyone's spirits. The crew pushed their way through the door until Alfred was alone with the Hungarian girl Amira. She looked him up and down, frowning slightly. "I have never seen you before on England's ship." "I'm new to the crew. Kinda a stowaway that they decided to keep." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Keep? You mean England let you live even though you were a stowaway? How very unlike him." Her confusion made him laugh a little. "I suppose I'm just a lucky man." Shaking her head slowly, Amira said. "Not possible. He must see something in you. There must be something he likes." Alfred's eyes widened, staring back at Amira's bright green eyes, suddenly thinking of his captain again. What was she saying? "I say give him a chance. He's not the best at relationships. He is so in love with his adventures that he forgets that he needs to love people too."

Was she just THIS insightful? WHAT? Amira smiled and chuckled. "I don't want to assume, but you seem rather cold towards one another. If you are fighting or angry or something at one another, make the first step to fix it. Even if you are right, he never will. Make him see that he needs friends." With that she turned to enter her tavern, leaving Alfred standing in stunned silence on the outside. Was she right? If he wanted things to happen- anything- would he have to take the first step?

Alfred hazily walked into the tavern, surprised at the warmth that came from the usually brutal men. The room was bigger on the inside, with a huge fireplace in the back and a wooden piano with a tall man with dark brown hair and bifocals. He was sitting up perfectly straight and his fingers flew over the keys playing an upbeat melody. Although the music wasn't particularly a pirate's cup of tea, most of the pirates were far too drunk to care.

Alfred moved to the back of the bustling room, near his crew. They were all already tearing into the ale and food, as it wasn't gruel for once. Chicken and beef and potatoes were served, and the crew tore apart the table to get as much as they could. As down as he was, even Alfred jumped at the chance for better food. He managed to get a piece of beef and potato. He bit into it and sighed happily. Oh the heavenly taste of land food...

England smiled as his crew gorged themselves. They certainly deserved it, as they had been sailing for so long. He couldn't help but glance at Alfred F. Jones, the crew member that he hadn't spoken to in weeks. Ever since that one magic night, when he had become a coward and ran away from the first man in a long time that he had feelings for. But that had all changed. Not a word in such a long time.

Finn and George knew. They knew what was happening and they wanted to help. They both caught each other's eyes and came closer. Finn bent his head excitedly. "Have you seen the way the captain has been lately? Even more despondent than usual." Finn was obviously upset that his friend was down. George nodded, animated. "And Alfred. I knew they had a thing for each other, but a few weeks ago... It was like something happened..."

Finn felt his plan starting to fall into place. "We should do something. They were both so happy when everything was still ok." Looking over at the two men in question, they watched as they picked at their food. The rest of the pirates were noisy and loud and rowdy, but not those two. Alfred smiled at all the right moments in his conversation with Gustav, but it seemed forced. England chatted with Amira, but he seemed to glance over at Alfred from time to time, then quickly look away.

Looking at the two of them, Finn's brain started turning. What could they do to get their captain's spirits back up? It was obvious that he liked Alfred. A lot. So that should be the solution. But what could they do about it? He started to smile slightly as his plan to get the two together began to form. Finn pulled George closer to whisper his idea in his ear, and with every word George's smile grew bigger and bigger. It was simple, genius and bound to work. As long as England and Alfred would just play along…Finn moved from George's ear, grinning. "Ready?"

George could barely stop smiling. "Let's do this."

Forcing Alonzo to scoot over, George sat down next to Alfred and handed him an ale. "Drink up lad! A night on shore is not a night meant sober!" He laughed as he slammed another ale that he snatched from a passing server girl down on the table in front of his smaller crew member. "Oh...I don't know if I should..." Alfred glanced at the head of the table, looking quickly and sadly at Captain Kirkland, who was listening to the piano playing Austrian now. Maybe if I get drunk enough, I can forget him. Alfred turned to George." On second thought," he reached for the glass and downed it in one huge gulp, "Keep em' comin." George smiled widely, though the hidden meaning of the smile was lost on Alfred. All part of the plan.

Finn held back for a few minutes. Arthur didn't have to drink all that much to be speech slurring, unsteady walking drunk, so he waited for George to get Alfred a bit tipsy before walking over to his captain. "Well HELLOOOOOOO sir!" Arthur jumped slightly at the sound of his first mate. "You need to drink. First nighton land, awarm tavern, the wholedamn crew," Fin was intentionally slurring his words to make Arthur think the entire following conversation was simply a drunken sailor talking. But hopefully it would get his wheels turning.

"Thank you Finn, but really I'm fi-" Finn cut him off saying, "You know what you need?" England stared at him, bushy eyebrows raised. Finn swallowed and mustered all the courage he could while still looking drunk. "AlfredFJones. Youtwo have beenwaltzing around eachother forthe past few weeks, and tobe honest, it's just... Stupid." Pretending to stumble a bit, Finn ducked to hide his laughter at the pirate's stunned face. "Like seriously... You need to just growthe hell up and fixit. Now drink youold fool!" With that Finn slammed an ale down in front of England and stumbled away, making it a point to run into multiple other drunken pirates and knock over a few chairs.

England stared stunned as his first mate blundered away. What had just happened? How did he know anything about what was going on between him and Alfred? Had it been that obvious? Staring at the mug in front of him, he wanted to drink it. And another. And another. Until he couldn't remember Finn's advice, or most anything else for that matter. Sometimes it was a good thing to get drunk so very easily. England raised the glass to his lips, grinning.

Here we go.

George was slapping Alfred on the back as his young friend chocked on his seventh or eighth mug of ale. This kid could really hold his alcohol. Still, it was beginning to seem like he wasn't exactly coherent anymore, as he laughed at and tried to have a conversation with a beetle that was trapped under an over turned glass. Well, he thought as he watched Alfred ask the bug his name for the hundredth time, mission accomplished here. He looked over at the captain, who was now loudly singing a sea shanty with Gustav. England didn't sing. Ever. Finn must have succeeded as well then. George executed the final stage of the plan. Turning to the red faced sailor, he grinned.

"Alfred, you don't look so well. How about we get you a room for the night and you can sleep off the alcohol?" Alfred looked up saying, "Oh yes! That sounds great Antonio! You have fun with Romano tonight, ok? Tomato..." He grinned as his head slammed back down on the table. George's eyebrow raised. Who the hell were Antonio and Romano? He grabbed his mumbling friend by the shoulders and pulled him from the bench over to the Hungarian owner of the tavern. Without a word, Amira discreetly handed him a key and winked. George shook his head. Of course Amira would have figured it out. She always did. She was probably hatching a plan when she laid eyes on them.

England wasn't quite so drunk that he was passed out cold, but certainly drunk enough to need help standing. And walking. And sitting. It was rather hard to keep him off the floor. Finn was a rather small man and not one that could easily maneuver a drunken pirate through a crowded room. As he was dragging England across the floor, Tobias silently walked over and slung Arthur over his shoulders. Though he was not a big man, he seemed used to carrying drunken men upstairs for the night. Amira handed Tobias a key and smiled a knowing smile at Finn. She knew what they were doing. Of course she did. Finn just ducked his head and prayed that this would work.

"Ok Alfred. Just stay in here and try not to get into any trouble." George deposited the drunken man on the bed and quickly left before he could respond. Alfred stared after him. What was with him, just leaving him there? He was beginning to recover slightly, enough to not ask the bug on the wall any questions, and his head had started hurting a lot. Damn, he shouldn't have had that much to drink. He just wanted to sleep.

The door flew open again just as Alfred had stretched out on the bed. The piano player had entered with a man slung over his shoulders, who was happily humming an unknown tune. Tobias dropped the man on the bed next to Alfred, and silently walked out. Glancing at the doorway, Alfred could just see Finn look in and quickly exit, closing the door behind him. As drunk as he was, Alfred figured out that the man now mumbling in to the mattress was England. Through the drunken haze, Alfred could see what the crew members were doing, but he didn't really have the energy or capacity to think much about it.

For about an hour, the two men simply lay in silence, trying to get rid of the alcohol that would cloud their judgment. England had noticed Alfred long ago, but chose to ignore him and pretend he was too drunk to notice anything. Unfortunately, he did feel Alfred on the bed next to him, so warm and close. And he wanted to do something, anything, with this man. The man he had fallen for.

Alfred also knew England was there, and was trying to think of a way to talk to him. Even a conversation would have been amazing, but he was afraid that he would make a mistake, drunk as he was. He didn't want to end up looking and sounding like a fool. Those two idiots, throwing the both of them in the same room together! Did they know what they were doing, what the consequences would be? The soft sounds coming from Arthur's mouth made Alfred shudder. He wanted to get back what they had that night on the deck. He wanted that feeling back so badly, and here was the perfect opportunity.

Finally, England peeled himself from the bed and shakily sat up. Alfred was leaning against the wall now, staring at him. England became horribly self-conscious, though the ale was still making him very loose. An awkward silence ensued as the two men faced one another, really looking for the first time in weeks. England had forgotten how handsome Alfred was, with his sun-kissed skin and low cut pants. Alfred noticed England again as well. The deep emerald eyes and way his blond hair seemed to be permanently windswept…

Finally Alfred decided it was time to break the silence that had lasted for weeks. "So captain," his words came rather slow, heavy with ale, "You can't drink, huh?" England stared back for a moment without saying a word. Then he laughed. A small laugh, just a giggle. A drunken giggle. But then Alfred joined in. They started to giggle together, and then laugh, then fall into hysterics. The fact that they were drunk made everything more funny, but it was more than that. The feeling of relief, the release from the awkward, was everything they had hoped for. Everything was falling into some sort of place. Alfred grinned through the tears of happiness running down his face. Maybe he should thank George and Finn later.

Alfred stared at the captain, grinning sloppily.

I'll thank them later. When I'm not busy


	9. Chapter 9

**I changed my mind. This is officially my favorite chapter that I wrote. It was so very much fun. Warning, it's a little… graphic. Not horribly so, but if you can't read a smut scene, then walk away. Thank you to doctorpotterhetaliafan35 for editing this chapter. It's kinda short so sorry about that! Hope you like it! **

The silence wasn't awkward anymore. It was a friendly silence, one that two friends enjoyed simply because they could. It had been a few hours since they had gotten into the room and had talked the whole time. They were almost sober now, just tipsy enough to talk about anything. And they did. For hours they simply talked and laughed, reveling in the fact that they were talking again. Both men simply stared at one another when the other was talking, taking them in, enjoying their presence.

Finally they stopped the conversations and enjoyed a friendly silence. They were both sitting against the wall behind the bed. Alfred saw England's hands lying on top of the blankets and decided to try something. Reaching down he rested his hand on top of Arthur's.

At first, England didn't react outwardly, though his heart had started beating a hundred times faster. This was the first physical contact between them since the night of their sword lesson, and he wanted to savor it. But soon it wasn't enough for Alfred and he moved his hand to lace his fingers through England's, and this time England shuddered a bit at the touch, making Alfred smile. They sat there like that for a while. Nothing to interrupt them, nothing to make them stop. But now England was the greedy one, the one that needed more.

Both men were still a bit tipsy, but England was now sober enough to focus on one thing at a time. And he focused on Alfred. The stared at the youth's tan skin, blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. His glasses were askew on his face, and his lips were turned up in a goofy grin. One hand still intertwined with Alfred's, he reached over with his other and slowly ran his hand over the stowaway's chest.

A small gasp escaped Alfred as he felt the contact. He hadn't realized how much he had missed what they had had that night. He knew he wanted it back, but this… was so much better than he remembered. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall as England ran his hands over his chest. He stopped to trace the muscles and then the tattoo, smiling at the idea that that brand on his skin marked Alfred as his crew member and no one else's. Finally, Alfred couldn't take it anymore and pulled England down from their sitting position to rest his head on the captain's chest. He felt like a child again, cuddled up next to the older country.

England sighed with happiness as he pulled the boy closer, now running his free hand through his hair. He had missed this youth more than anything, and having him back had sent him to cloud nine. The rustic smell of Alfred's body, the feeling of him so close. It was everything he had could have asked for. But Alfred wasn't quite happy yet. Using the hand that wasn't intertwined with England's, he began running his fingers lightly up and down his chest, causing the pirate to shudder slightly. Looking up, he caught England's eye, shining with lust. He was sure his eyes looked the same. But before they could move forward, a piece of advice had to be followed. A piece of advice given to Alfred by a Hungarian girl that seemed to simply understand everything. He had to take the first step.

"I'm sorry." Alfred's blue eyes were the size of saucers as he spoke those words, looking at England for reassurance, a sign that they could move forward together. A forgiveness for something as stupid as a misunderstanding. England couldn't believe he had apologized. He was the coward, not his beloved crew member. He was going to explain this, make him know that he shouldn't blame himself. But instead, he simply smiled and moved Alfred's lips up to his and whispered, "Me too."

Closing the small space between them, Alfred pulled England's lips down onto his. He sighed, the taste of the pirate's lips sending his buzzed mind spinning. How he had missed that taste, that feeling. The salty flavor enveloping his mouth as the older nation began biting his lower slip sent shivers up America's spine. His eyes were closed, not allowing anything to distract him from the present. Wrapping his arm around Arthur's neck, Alfred ran his fingers through his hair, causing England to sigh quietly. This was too good to be true, too perfect.

England held back moans of pleasure as Alfred nails started lightly clawing at his chest. His hands ran unknown patterns through the pirate's shirt, moving between the buttons and sliding under as much as they could. Their lips were still locked, connected in a way that neither wanted to let go of. Letting go of the crew member's hand, he reached around his head and pulled Alfred on top of him, running his hand down his neck, over his chest and down to his waist, taking in every part of the boy he was so madly in love with.

England finally released Alfred from their kiss, causing the boy to whine a bit. His disappointment didn't last long, as England flipped them over so he was now lying on Alfred's chest. Looking quickly into England's emerald eyes, Alfred smiled lazily. He was on the way to heaven, just moments away. England began kissing his neck, nibbling on his ear and nuzzling his shoulders. Alfred bit his tongue, trying to take in everything at once.

Moving his hands to the broken buttons on his lover's shirt, Arthur began pulling off the white fabric. It was getting in the way, and Arthur wanted full access to this youth's body. He was his and his alone and he wanted no distractions as he began moving his mouth down his chest sucking and slurping, his tongue stopping from time to time to enjoy the taste of the boy under him. The ecstasy that surrounded his body and shot through his drunken brain like a bullet made him moan and cry out. Alfred shifted his body closer to his captain, thinking quickly of the England back in his time. Could he have really have been this good with love at some time? He moaned loudly as England began to flit his hands around his midsection and lower back.

Sitting up suddenly, Alfred began pulling Arthur's clothes off. He ripped off his shirt and loosened his pants, taking off the belt that had stubbornly kept the pirate's in place until then. Now they slid down his hips, revealing more wonderfully defined muscles. Sliding his hands down his chest, he began tracing England's hips and moving farther and farther down, receiving short gasps of pleasure from the pirate. Alfred moaned with pleasure as he explored England's body, one hand flying around his back to grab his hair. He moved with England's head as he continued to suck and kiss his chest, every touch sending another shot of pleasure through Alfred.

Arthur almost couldn't take it. After weeks of utter silence, now they were suddenly so very close. Alfred's fingers felt like magic on his skin, warm and inviting. He was getting so low, so intimate, and driving him closer and closer to the edge. He removed his mouth from Alfred's chest and moved to kiss him again, forcing his tongue past his lips and deep into the boy's mouth. Pressing his tongue to the roof of Alfred's mouth and exploring, running over his teeth and wrapping it around the other's tongue. Alfred moaned in the back of his throat, his nails digging into England's back, clawing up and down his spine. Both bodies rocked smoothly in a rhythm, rubbing and grinding up and down each other's hips. Every breath was sharply drawn, Arthur's fingers dug into the sheets, heat from both bodies causing their bare skin to drip with sweat.

For a few hours the two men reveled in each other, twisting, turning, kissing, and biting. They couldn't get enough, but eventually the alcohol still in their brains caused them to run out of energy. They collapsed on the bed, Alfred's head resting on England's chest and England wrapped his arm around him, keeping him close. They fell asleep together, all their troubles far away for the time. What they didn't notice, as they were so wrapped up in each other, was the dark figure that slowly closed the door to their room as they drifted off to sleep.

A while later, Alfred woke up, blinking the weariness out of his eyes. He glanced above him to see England's smiling face, still out cold. He looked so much younger when he was asleep, his eyebrows un furrowed and face lit with a soft smile as he dreamed. Alfred wondered if he was dreaming about him. The sun was creeping in through the window. Alfred moved slowly to get out of bed. His head was clear of all drunken buzz now, and he smiled as he moved his lover's arm down onto the bed, careful not to wake him. He wanted to get downstairs before Arthur woke up to thank George and Finn for all they had done. It really was all thanks to them.

Quietly putting on his shirt, which had been unceremoniously thrown to the ground the night before, pants and boots and snuck out of the room, wincing as the creaking door closed behind him, causing England to roll over and sigh. He smiled as he looked at the sleeping pirate, remembering the night before and how close they had been, how intimate they were. It had been everything he had hoped for, everything he had anticipated. He couldn't believe they had danced around each other for so long when both of them wanted the same thing. It all seemed so stupid now.

As Alfred walked down the hall, his mind was anywhere and everywhere except behind him. He thought about the night, and what would happen in the following days. Would things get awkward again? Or would they move forward in their relationship? He smiled as he walked forward, thinking of what he would say to England when he woke up. But he didn't look backwards. So he didn't see the dark figure that walked up from behind…

And reached around, putting his hand over his mouth, slamming his head against the wall and knocking him out cold. As Alfred sank to the ground, the man smiled. "So Monsieur Angleterre has taken a lover? It would be a pity if he...I don't know...disappeared?" Stepping on the unconscious boy's back, France grinned menacingly at the door that England slept behind. "You steal from me, I'll steal from you. An eye for an eye, as they say." His evil grin grew. "I'm sure you'll understand…

Captain."


	10. Chapter 10

England stretched as the sun shone bright through the window. He sat up and looked next to him to see an empty bed. He frowned, worried for a moment that the entire night had been a dream. Then he spotted Alfred's sword on the dresser and smiled. So it had happened. It had been true. The magical night that he had spent with the boy he loved had really happened. He leaned on his arms smiling. He was extremely pleased by the outcome of the night.

So where had Alfred gone? Shrugging, he groggily got up and pulled on his boots. His head hurt from the hangover and he had to sit for a minute, rubbing his temples. What would he say to Alfred this morning? What could happen now? As he moved to the door to head downstairs for breakfast, he failed to notice the piece of paper on top of Alfred's sword, addressed to him.

Smiling, England walked out of the room and down the stairs to the dining room. Most of the pirates from the night before were drunk and still asleep, so only a few were in the huge room, making it seem even bigger than it was. The only people from his crew were Finn and George, which surprised him as he vaguely remembered Finn being more than drunk than him last night. Then again, most of the details before his encounter with Alfred were blurry. Those memories came through so strongly that most of the rest of the night didn't really come through, but he was almost positive Finn had been almost unconscious when he had talked to him.

Walking over to his crew members, Captain Arthur Kirkland tried to keep a straight face. He wanted to seem nonchalant and secretive about the previous night. Too bad the only two pirates that knew what had happened were the ones he was trying to fool. When they saw him approach, they quickly focused on their breakfast, trying not to catch his attention, but the room was so big and empty, they knew there was no way that would happen. What if they hadn't made up? What if their plan had just made everything worse? The look on the pirate's face gave nothing away, so they held their breath as he sat down next to them, motioning for a servant girl to bring breakfast.

England put his elbows on the table, watching his first mate and best swordsman ignore him. What was with these two? His memory was starting to come back some more and now he remembered that Finn had indeed been horribly drunk, almost comically so. He began piecing the puzzle together. The awkward side glances, the over-the-top drunken attitude, the strange advice to patch things up with Alfred… it was their doing! They had devised a plan to get them together! Those idiots, how could they do that without permission? His eyebrows furrowed, causing his crew members to shudder. So he figured it out. What was he going to do? Finn and George caught each others glance and nodded solemnly. See ya buddy.

Suddenly he laughed loudly, causing Finn and George to jump. England dropped his head and he started to laugh. Finn and George caught each others eyes, blankly. They did not know how to respond. Was he still drunk? Or had he not figured out what they had done? Looking up, they saw his eyes glint with absolute joy, an expression they hadn't seen in a long time. Finn smiled weakly, nudging George to join in. Chuckling England said, "Clever. That was very clever." Turning pale, the men again realized that he knew exactly what they had done, smiles falling off their faces. Oh God, was this like the calm before the storm? He reached across the table, and they men immediately pulled back in fear. He simply patted them on the backs saying, "Thank you."

After staring up at England for a while, they realized that the smile on his face was genuine. He really was grateful. Well then, it must have gone really well the night before! They couldn't help but be curious just how heated it had gotten that the pirate captain was this happy. They smiled back wholeheartedly entirely pleased with themselves now that they knew England wasn't going to run them through with his sword. Sitting back down, Arthur asked, "Have you seen Alfred lately? He wasn't there when I woke up." Both men's eyebrows flew up and Finn chocked on a piece of beef, George gave a strangled laugh. Woke up? Did that mean…Finn caught Georges eyes, understanding the hidden meaning. Just how far did their little plan take the two men? Shifting in his seat, George shook his head trying to hide his smile. "Sorry, not seen him." England seemed surprised. "How long have you been down here?" "About an hour. Not really used to sleeping in if I'm not stone cold drunk." England scratched his head, looking around. Where could Alfred have gotten off to?

Standing up, Arthur went to talk to Amira. "Good morning there, lover boy. How did you...ah... sleep?" Amira winked and smiled. Well of course she knew what had happened. She knew everything. Instead of getting upset, England smiled slightly. "Have you seen him by any chance?" Amira shook her head and turned to Tobias who was behind her counting gold and silver. "OY Tobias, have you seen that boy from last night? Big blue eyes, dirty blonde hair and these silly glasses?" Arthur frowned. He thought the glasses were cute on the tough blonde man. It added a little vulnerability. Unfortunately Tobias shook his head as well. Now England was worried. Those two never left the dining room empty, so one of them should have seen Alfred if he had left. So where was he?

Walking back up the stairs, England pondered where he could be. The dining room was really the only room anyone could get into, and if neither Tobias nor Amira had seen him leave, he must still be somewhere in the building. He pushed open the door to his room and entered, still focused on his predicament. If he had planned to leave, he should have left a note explaining where he had gone. This caused Arthur to glance over at Alfred's sword, noticing the paper with his name written on it for the first time. He breathed a sigh of relief. I was worried about nothing. Tobias and Amira probably just missed him. Smiling again, he strutted over to the sword and picked up the note, opening it and begging to read. Right away he knew something was wrong. The writing was familiar, and not friendly. This was not what he had been hoping for.

"_Monsieur Angleterre. My sincerest apologies that it has come to this. But you know how it goes; you so rudely steal from me and I must simply return the favor. You stole a lot of gold from a Spanish merchant ship a few weeks ago. I want it. Your little amoureux is now in my care. Don't worry, he won't be harmed. He's too pretty for that. But you won't be seeing him again until you hand over the gold. I'll be on my ship, waiting to meet up with you. Remember, no gold, no sweet, gorgeous boy. He is very beau… I might have to have a little fun while he's staying with me. I'll be sad to see him go. But I want that gold. So return what you stole, and I shall return what I stole. Au revoir pour l'instant! –Francis Bonnefoy."_

England read the letter. Then re-read it. Then read it again. And again. He couldn't believe what was right in front of his eyes. How could this be happening all of a sudden? Everything had been perfect not moments before. And then France... FRANCE. How dare he? He dares to use the man he loved against him? That was low even for the French bastard. Crumpling the note in his hand, England's eyes grew cold and heartless. There was no forgiving now. He had crossed a line, a line that England had just drawn. He had just fallen in love, allowed himself to feel for this man… and he had been taken from him. He wouldn't get to feel his lips or warm skin. He wouldn't see his goofy smile or his huge blue eyes that stared at the sky looking ready to fly off into the sunset. He would never be able to discover all of his lover's secrets or make new ones of their own…

No. He wouldn't think like that. He would give up every piece of gold they had taken to get back the stowaway that had stolen his heart. He would fight to the death to save Alfred F. Jones. It didn't matter if the rest of the crew cared the way he did. They would never leave a man behind. They would help to save him. Grabbing his coat and Alfred's sword, Arthur blindly rushed out the door and down the stairs, bellowing for Finn and George to wake the rest of the crew up. Once they were all assembled, he would explain the situation. He wouldn't be able to go through it more than once. His eyes shone with fury and determination. He was going to get Alfred back, no matter the cost.

Alfred woke inside a ship's hull. How many times was this going to happen? He tried to move, but found that his arms were chained behind him, and then attached to the wall. Twisting slightly, he realized his legs were also chained so they were spread open in a horribly uncomfortable version of the splits. What the hell was going on here? The last thing Alfred remembered was leaving the room he had shared with Arthur to thank George and Finn for their help. Then his head had been slammed against the wall and everything went black. Looking around, the room was dimly lit and smelled like sea salt. The boat was rocking, so they were out in the sea. Crap. Nowhere to run. The interior of the room was very impressive, obviously the captain's quarters. Ornate decorations adorned the walls, and tapestries of gold and bright colors covered the wood.

Alfred felt fairly certain he knew who was the captain of this ship, but he still shuddered as he heard the man's voice from the desk in the corner. He had really hoped to have been wrong, but unfortunately his guess had been spot on. "Ah, you are awake mon ami! Welcome to my ship, the lovely 'The Valentine'. So much better than the old bastard England's eh?" France smiled at him from his seat, getting a silent glare from his prisoner in response. Frowning slightly, France placed his glass of wine down on the table and stood. "Oh come now. It's nothing personal. If you didn't know Angleterre, we wouldn't even be here! Unfortunately, you managed to fall in love with a very dangereux man, one that will get you into trouble."

Walking over to Alfred, he grabbed his chin forcing him to look at France straight in the eye. He was a perverted ass even back in this time? How had England dealt with his all this time? Sure, when he was being helpful and not a jerk, he was an ok guy. But he had a feeling that past France was never likeable. This idea was supported as Francis began running his thumb across Alfred's cheek and down to his lips. "You are a pretty boy, you know? I can see why Angleterre likes you so much." He stood suddenly, and walked back to his chair, dragging it over to sit in front of Alfred, who continued to stay silent while glaring daggers at the man who had kidnapped him.

France simply stared at England's lover boy. He didn't seem to be particularly special at first glance, but now that he was right in front of him, he could understand Kirkland's interest. He was well built and seemed to bleed energy. His chest was well toned and tan, with the tail tell tattoo of the British man's crew. Damn, that would be hard to get rid of. If England didn't come to rescue this boy. But he would come because there was something about him that had stolen Arthur's heart, which wasn't an easy task. He would come, and France was sure about it.

Francis Bonnefoy was a jealous man when it came to love, and at the moment he was jealous of Arthur Kirkland. How come that little merde was lucky enough for a beautiful man like Alfred to just appear on his ship? France reached over to stroke Alfred's cheek again, enjoying the soft blush that rushed to redden his face. He really was adorable, the way he seemed utterly shy when France touched him. How interesting. Smiling, France got down on the floor in front of Alfred, his hand never leaving his prisoner's face.

Smiling reassuringly, France said "You may speak you know. I'm not strict and cranky like old Angleterre. I promise, you can say anything mon ami." Alfred scowled at the man's nonchalant words. He stared coolly back at the Frenchman saying, "Arthur Kirkland is not a bad man. As a matter of fact, he is one of the greatest gentlemen I have ever had the pleasure to meet, and he is certainly a hundred times better than you." His voice never wavered as he spoke these words, enjoying the slight surprise on France's face. Every word Alfred had just said was the absolute truth, and it cut the other pirate captain deeply to know that this beautiful boy thought so highly of his worst enemy.

He wasn't going to give in without a fight though. He laughed as he said, "I guarantee you that I will be a much better host than him. Then again, I understand that I will have to go pretty far to top Monsieur Angleterre this time…" As he said this, his hand moved down to Alfred's neck, making his eyes narrow and his face flush. Just what did this man think he was doing? If he got any lower, Alfred would have to take action. His arms and legs were thoroughly chained to the wall, but his head and mouth were free, leaving his attack options to biting and head butting. He really hoped it just wouldn't be a problem.

He hopes were dashed as France got closer, breathing in slowly. He liked the smell of this boy, like the woods or a smoldering fire. It was very… intoxicating. He planted a soft kiss on Alfred's neck, loving the heat and rage that showed on the boy's face. "I understand why he likes you so much. Too bad he's going to lose you over as silly of a thing as some gold." Alfred's eyes widened in horror. "GOLD? THAT'S WHY I'M HERE? YOU WANT YOUR GOLD BACK? WHAT AM I A PROSTITUTE?!" He shouted this, causing France to back up a bit. The fury in his beautiful blue eyes was breathtaking and his muscles tightened as he strained against the chains.

"But of course! Argent makes the world go round! It's what keeps everything running smoothly. All I want is the gold he stole returned to me." Alfred was still seething with fury as he spoke. "Then why not attack him and TAKE it back? Isn't that what pirates do? How could you crush a man's heart like this? That's low, even for you France." His head hit the wall hard as France came close to his face. "Low? You speak as though there is a code of conduct to piracy. Anything goes really. Including lies. I promised to return you if he brought the gold, "France grabbed Alfred's chin with one hand and began running his other down the captive's chest, "but I don't think I will. I trust you will find me so much better than Captain Kirkland."

France then pushed his lips up to Alfred's, his fingers tracing the man's stomach muscles and quickly moving lower. Alfred couldn't react for a moment. This kiss was nothing like England's. It was rough and full of passion and lust. He was very fiery, almost scary. The Frenchman's hand on his skin burned, mapping out his chest and abdomen, leaving nothing untouched. He shuddered with every contact. Francis was rather good at this, and it shocked Alfred that he couldn't bring himself to pull away immediately. But it wasn't England here; it wasn't the man he loved.

This got more apparent very quickly as France became a bit more… intimate. With every inch downward, Alfred's face got redder and redder. Eventually he started sliding his pants off his hips, never breaking the rough, passionate kiss. Alfred made a confused sound in the back of his throat as France began to feel around his lower regions. Woah. He felt very conflicted emotions, his body telling him one thing and his heart saying another. I am not enjoying this, Alfred thought, trying to remove his lips from Frances.

Francis's tongue edged around his lips, instinctively Alfred moaned.

SHIT.

No!

Alfred was forcing himself to think of England. Picture his face. He couldn't go back on his lover, no matter how insanely good the Frenchman was.

No way was he going to let France get away with this. He finally brought himself back to his senses and attacked. He first brought his head back, breaking France's lips from his own. Then he brought his skull back towards France's forehead and crashed into his kidnapper. As Francis fell backwards, Alfred reached his neck down to bite the hand that was inching farther down, causing the captain to cry out. Finally, he turned to bite the other hand that was still pulling his hair.

France flew backwards, running into the chair he had place in front of Alfred. Where did he get all this fight from? He scowled as he rubbed his head. Alfred seemed unfazed besides the look of total disgust in his eyes as he glared at France. "Well, you do put up a fight. I will let it slide if you promise never to do that again," he said as he slid back over to the hostage, replacing his hand on Alfred's abdomen, "and don't speak about that English merde. Have we got a deal?" He tilted Alfred's chin down to look at him, which ended up being a huge mistake.

Alfred hit him in the head again, and bit his nose causing it to bleed. This sent France retreating again, crying out and holding his nose. Smiling with cold rage in his eyes, Alfred said, "Just so you know, England is better at this than you as well." This sent France over the edge. His face flushed with anger and he grabbed his prisoner by the neck, pushing him against the wall. "You want to be difficult then? Oui. Then I will have to punish you until you comply." He released Alfred, who gulped air into his lungs. He returned quickly and tied a piece of cloth around Alfred's head, covering his eyes. Blindfolded, Alfred scowled. "What the hell do you think you ar-" His words were cut off as another cloth came around to gag him. He began protesting, though they all sounded like mumbles now.

Smiling France stood. There. A peaceful, quiet, non-violent prisoner. If he wouldn't comply then so be it. He would stay there until he decided to do as he, Captain Bonnefoy of the Valentine, demanded. "Until you do as you're told, you will remain there, gagged and blindfolded. I would think about my next move if I were you, Monsieur Alfred F. Jones." Alfred heard his footsteps retreat, and then a door close and lock. He sighed and hung his head. What had he gotten into this time? He missed England, both from this time and his own time. Given the opportunity, would I go back to my time? Or stay with Captain Kirkland? Would he ever even have to make that decision? Resting his head against the wall, Alfred thought, 'France said I would be here until I complied. No. I will be here until I can escape. Or England comes to save me. And I know he will.


	11. Chapter 11

**Ok so only like two more chapters after this one! :0 I apologize if this chapter is kind of bad. I had to really push myself to finish it because the next two chapters are the most fun things to write ever! Hope you like it please review :)**

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Three days. Three days of searching the sea for that frog France with nothing to show for their efforts. England had never actually tried to find the bastard before then, and it was proving to be most difficult. Any schedule the crew of the 'Elizabeth' could have followed was no longer correct as France was making it a point to be scarce. As obvious as it was, only George and Finn were still privy to the information regarding the captains obsession with finding Captain Bonnefoy. Most of them thought he was simply after Alfred to prove a point to France; that he wouldn't leave anyone behind. But they knew the truth. Their captain's heart was at stake here. They needed to find the French pirate.

England did his best to stay busy. He refused to think about what that French son of a whore was doing to his Alfred. He was well known as a pervert. What if... No. No use worrying about it. Simply have to find him, simply have to save him. Arthur felt responsible for Alfred being in danger. If France didn't have a problem with England, then Alfred would be safe. He would be on the ship right next to England. He sighed as he continued setting new courses every day, trying everything to find France. There was so much ocean! How would he ever be able to track one random ship? And what if the ship they found was a decoy? Or France didn't believe that they had returned all the gold? Slamming his hand down on the desk, England growled. He kept letting his imagination run away from him, distract him. All of his focus had to be on finding the ship that his beloved stowaway was on. The rest could be dealt with as they came across it.

Days went by with still no progress and England began to get anxious. His anxiety rubbed off on the crew to the point where the atmosphere on the deck was so thick with worry that it was almost tangible. Then men didn't drink or feast at night like they used to. They went straight to sleep in order to be up before dawn to continue the search. Though the captain wanted Alfred back the most, all of the men had their own wish to have their fellow crew member returned safely, even at the cost of some gold.

The two Italian brothers liked Alfred. Francesco missed their conversations simply because he seemed to actually enjoy talking to him, unlike his brother. Alfred would smile and laugh at all the right moments and make Francesco feel important. Alonzo had enjoyed the entertainment of having an inlander on the ship and watching him become a pirate. Now the entertainment and excitement was gone and he grew bored. Gustav also liked the lad, though he certainly wasn't as awesome as himself. He had come a rather long way with canon firing and could successfully load and clean a pistol. Alfred was his student, and he wanted to continue having someone to teach that would actually listen. Of course, Finn and George wanted him back for their captain's sake, but also for their own. Finn had come to rely on the spry youth to do the tougher jobs, like climbing the mast and untying the sails. Everything took longer with one less person and that meant they took longer to find Alfred. George was the crew member affected the most. He and Alfred had grown rather close in the time he had been on the ship and he missed the friendly man and his crazy antics. Not only England wanted Alfred F. Jones back; every pirate that knew him did too.

The ocean wasn't England's sanctuary anymore. He no longer saw the beauty in the waves, or felt the calm rocking of the ship. Now it seemed cruel and cold, huge and lonely. It reminded him of Alfred's eyes, the way they sparkled in the moonlight. He stared out at the sea and sighed, angry that he still hadn't found the bastard that had taken the man he loved as a hostage. The gold they had taken was compiled in the chests it had arrived in. Arthur couldn't bring himself to look at it, the reason he didn't have his Alfred right then. Looking out at the horizon through a spyglass he searched and searched. He wouldn't stop, he wouldn't give up, until he was reunited with Alfred, safe and sound.

Alfred stared at the wall, and cursed France for the hundredth time that day. He had been left chained to the wall for days, his gag only removed for food. Literally, the only good thing about the French ship was the food. It involved almost no meat still, but there was cheese and bread every night. Francis also offered him wine, but he stubbornly refused every time, afraid of getting drunk while in France's perverted custody. Who knew what he would do if Alfred was too intoxicated to fight?

He heard the door to the cabin open as the French captain entered, holding his nightly cheese, bread and wine. Alfred followed him with his eyes, glaring with hatred. France simply smiled and walked over to him, kneeling to remove the gag. Even without the cloth around his mouth, Alfred remained silent, showing no expression on his poker face. France continued to smirk. He enjoyed the fight this young man was putting up. It wouldn't be any fun without a fight.

"Well mon ami, dinner is served. Wine?" Wordlessly Alfred shook his head, chewing on the cheese that had been forced through his lips. As good as the cheese was, he was quite sick of it. He was sick of everything on this ship. Sick of the food, sick of being chained to the wall, sick of France. He hated the fact that he had to focus to resist France's romantic advances, to remember the handsome British pirate that was searching for him. He hoped he missed him, hoped he was sailing the sea trying to find him, to rescue him. As he was in the middle of the ocean, the only escape would be another ship. He needed his help, needed England to save him. He wanted to be reunited with the man he loved.

At the same time, Alfred thought about the England from his own time for the first time in over a month. He had been gone for so long, and so wrapped up in the Arthur Kirkland of the past that he had temporarily forgotten the one back home. Now as he sat chained to the wall of a French pirate ship in 1523, held against his will by a perverted captain, he wanted to go home. He wanted to fall asleep and wake up back in his library, his head in the 2013 Arthur's lap. He would sit up, and England would chastise him for falling asleep. "When will you learn to be polite? You were always so rude, even when you were younger." Alfred would look into his huge annoyed eyes, smiling. Grinning like an idiot he would wrap his old mentor in a huge hug, content with being home and safe again. As much as he loved the England of this time, he loved the one of his time just as much. Alfred could see this now, that he loved Arthur Kirkland no matter what time. He had always loved his England, and now he realized it.

A hand on his neck shocked back to the present. France was once again staring into his eyes, mouth only a few inches away from Alfred's. His huge sapphire eyes glinted in the low firelight as he chewed on his bottom lip. Over a week had passed and the boy still refused to comply with his demands and their was nothing Francis could do about it. He refused to take him by force; he did have morals. But how much longer would they be able to sail around, out of the sight of the British Empire? Not long enough, and if England would end up taking this beautiful specimen with him, he wanted to have a little fun before then. Looking into the hostage's eyes, he saw the now familiar cool rage. Under check but bubbly at the edges, ready to explode if France got too close. He subconsciously rubbed his forehead where a huge bump was just starting to fade, given to him by non other then his own prisoner. He smiled slightly at the memory. He had tasted oh so good under his lips, and until he started fighting, he was so responsive. Then he had to remember that stupid British pirate, the one he was in love with.

Refocusing on Alfred's eyes he said, "So are you quite well today?" Alfred rolled his eyes. France asked this every time he came in, knowing full well that Alfred was not 'quite well' and would rather be watching old horror films and face a hamburger famine than be chained to the wall of a 1500s French pirate ship. He smiled sweetly in response, though his eyes stayed stone cold. "Peachy. I'm just peachy." France smiled and planted a soft kiss on Alfred's neck, making him flush red and growl. Captain Bonnefoy straightened and returned the gag to the prisoner's mouth before leaving the room, securely locking the door behind him.

The blind fold had been removed about three days ago, or what he assumed was three days. France had wanted to see his eyes, even if they were always glaring with smoldering anger. Resting his head on the wall, Alfred sighed. Arthur was taking far too long to find him. This entire thing was getting unbearable and very uncomfortable. If he ever got back to his own time he was going to make sure to hit France over the head a few times with a baseball bat. A thought occurred to him as he thought of this. Did the two men remember the mysterious 'Alfred' from 1523? You would think, considering they were basically fighting over him. They must remember Alfred F. Jones. Right?

The horror of that thought struck him. Did England remember him? The intimacy between them? Had he always known? OH GOD. Alfred's face flushed red simply at the thought that Arthur had always known it was him. But maybe he didn't. Would he ever get to ask him? Alfred missed everything from his time now. The hamburgers, the world meetings. Even all the countries. He missed Mark, eh Marvin, ummm MATTHEW, his quiet twin brother from the north He missed Italy's crazy antics and white flags, and Romano's obsession with tomatoes. He missed Spain and is turtles, Russia and his trusty water pipe, Germany and his down-to-business attitude, China and his fabulous food, Japan and his love of hot tubs. Even Prussia, who usually got on his nerves, would have been a welcome sight now. He missed the France of his time, for though he was perverted, at least he didn't kidnap people for gold.

And he missed Arthur Kirkland. He missed his scowl, and the way he would yell when things didn't go according to plan. He missed the way he would talk to imaginary friends and mess up his black magic all the time. He missed his rare smiles, his gentle manners, and his comforting demeanor. He even missed the scones and tea. Alfred would have traded anything to be back with that England, to go home. He was tired of this world, tired of running and working and being emotionally challenged. Simply done with it all.

England had never been this excited in his life. The crew noticed this the moment they had come on deck that morning. He actually smiled the first smile since they left Montare Bay. Something good must have happened. The night before they had stopped in a very small bay for food and information. Most men had come up with nothing helpful, but as it turned out the captain had talked to a man who had an old enemy working aboard France's ship and was happy to provide him with as much as he could.

According to the traveler, the Valentine was headed back to France to the city of Rouen, where it would dock for a month as the crew returned home for a while. This visit had been planned for almost two weeks in the future but had been abruptly changed by Francis Bonnefoy about a week ago. Obviously this had been a ploy to throw the British crew off, as France had said he would be sailing and waiting for them. If they were on land, in France, it would be virtually impossible to track him down, especially because none of the French citizens would assist the British Empire in anything.

So the plan was now to meet the enemy pirates off the coast of France right before they entered the River Seine. A river was never the best place for pirate battle as too many people would be able to assist your enemies if they wanted to, especially when you're in enemy territory. And England did not want to face the Frenchman on land, especially not in Rouen. That had been the city where the British had sentenced France's beloved Joan of Arc to death and burned her at the stake. What irony that he would drag the one England loved to the same place. So they needed to be far enough from shore that no one from France would interfere but close enough that they could get an accurate bearing on where the ship was. They would be sailing to France the following day as the Valentine would not be arriving for three days.

The crew heaved sighs of relief. Days of searching and searching to no avail were finally coming to a close. They had found Alfred and were confident they could beat France and get him back. Hopefully they could keep the gold too, but that was an afterthought. With a new found determination, the men began working for the day, plotting a chart to the coast of France. The excitement of having a plan was tangible on the deck and brightened everyone's spirits. England looked out at the rising sun and continued to smile. The sea was so pretty again. Just like Alfred's eyes. Leaning over the rail, Arthur closed his eyes and enjoyed the calm rocking of the boat. Soon he would be reunited with Alfred and all would be right in the world again.

His mind temporarily wandered to France and his choice of city. Rouen. The city that held the most pain for Bonnefoy, all thanks to England. He had always been ashamed of that particular venture. She was only nineteen at her death. It didn't seem fair in the long run, but they had been at war. At the time she was simply causality. But France had loved that young girl, and England had taken her from him. Now France was getting his revenge, in a way. It was poetic and if it wasn't such a dire situation, England may have appreciated it. Unfortunately, things didn't end well for Joan, meaning nothing good could possibly happen to Alfred. England doubted France would kill the boy; he liked the challenge too much. No, he would be kept alive, but there are worse things than death. They had to stop France from getting to that city. Sighing, Arthur hung his head. They needed to rescue Alfred before France had the upper hand, before he could use the shame of that city against England; before France could have revenge.

France looked at the sleeping prisoner still chained to his wall and smiled. In three days they would reach the mouth of the River Seine which they would take to the city of Rouen. He both loved and hated that city. The woman he loved had been brutally killed there by that salaud England, but when he was there he felt close to her again. It was too perfect that he was bringing the very man who murdered his love to the same place as it happened, to face the consequences and not be able to save Alfred. He didn't plan to kill the lad; on the contrary he needed him very much alive. No, but he would suffer and England would have to watch. He smiled to himself as he rolled a crumb of bread around on his desk.

Soon everything would come together. He would have his gold back, maybe a prisoner as well depending on how and when England finally caught up with him. He would get to return to the city of his love and watch his worst enemy suffer. It was going to be a good few days, as long as he could reach the inland before England tracked him down. As much as he preferred to fight on the open water, that was usually with unskilled merchants. This was a well-trained crew of pirates, so fighting at sea would be risky. No, he needed to fight on land. Usually this would be a problem as pirates didn't fight many places on land besides taverns, but if he was in France at the time, he would have a definite advantage, along with supporters.

As long as everything went according to plan, then he should come out on top after all of this. Looking back at the sleeping form of Alfred, he smiled softly. Such a pretty boy. It was too bad he continued to be resistant. The fun he could have had with that body… Oh well. There's no fun in beating someone who doesn't fight. If France could break Alfred, a man who refused everything he had done even though he enjoyed it, the satisfaction would be so much better. What was it about Angleterre that Alfred liked so much that he could refuse France?

Standing up, France stretched and moved to his bed. He blew out the lamp and closed his eyes, falling asleep to the rocking of the boat and the soft snore coming from the captive chained to the wall. He dreamed of Joan of Arc and Alfred F. Jones, gold, and revenge.

Alfred was dreaming too. He dreamed he was back in his library listening to England's story. He had had this dream since coming aboard the Valentine, and they always ended the same. He would hear the same sentence, "Once upon a time, there was a pirate who ruled the seas taking everything he could get. He was brave and terrifying and a very good swordsman, but there's always more to a man than you know…" and then everything would fade to black. But something was always a little different as well. Each time he would hear different voices, voices he recognized. One night it was Italy saying, "I wish Germany had come to see him." Another night was Prussia. "He looks totally un-awesome you know." Spain made an appearance along with Romano, Austria, and Hungary. Once he even heard France who said, "He really is adorable when he's quiet." Then he would wake up, shocked for a moment again that he was still in the past and not with the people he heard at night. Tonight was Romano, complaining about some food he had been brought. What were these dreams? But usually his dreams slipped his mind soon after, as his problems were rather big at the moment and required much attention. But they would return every night without fail. What were they?

Resting his head on the wall, Alfred closed his eyes again. He hoped Arthur would find him before they made it to Rouen. France had explained the plan to him as he had no one to tell, and it seemed like all the cards were with France. Unless Arthur got to them before they hit the river. Then he would have a chance. He prayed that England also knew the plan. He hoped with all his heart that England knew where he was.


	12. Chapter 12

**Almost done with this story and I'm dying becuase of it. Please bear with me And review! I love feedback and thank you for sticking with this story all the way to chapter twelve! :)**

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England could just make out the shore of France, far in the distance. He had been preparing for the following battle for three days now. This was the battle that would return the man he loved back to him. They would be reunited and sail away in victory. Everyone was on edge, yet their spirits were high. They were ready for a fight and ready to get their comrade back. With light hearts, the men worked away, sharpening swords, raising sails, turning the ship to sail along the rocky coast of France. All was going well… until they saw the ship.

Alonzo was the one in the crow's nest at the time and spotted it approaching from the south. It was flying the French flag and looked exactly like 'the Valentine'. The problem was 'the Valentine' wasn't scheduled to show up for another day! It had arrived early and was quickly headed towards the mouth of the river that would lead to Rouen. They couldn't let that ship into the river or they would lose the only advantage they had; open sea. "Captain! It's 'The Valentine'! She's already here and headed for the river!"

Everyone froze in horror at those words. It was early? But they weren't prepared for a fight yet! England cursed as he ran to the rail with his spyglass. Sure enough, there was the bastard ship that held Alfred captive headed straight for the opening to the river. They would have to attack now, before it reached the mouth or they would have to either fight on the river or in Rouen, and both would have heavy advantages with the French. No, they would have to find a way of catching up with them now, overtaking them before it was too late. Dropping the spyglass, England rushed to the balcony that looked down on this crew. They were looking up at him expectantly, hoping he would have some genius idea that would fix the problem.

"Ok you slimy gits, we are going to have to move fast. Time is no longer on our side and we have to get to that ship before it hits the river or we lose any advantage we currently have. They aren't expecting us to attack, so it should be relatively easy with the element of surprise, but we need to MOVE! So get going! Raise the sails, prepare for a fight! We have a French pirate to defeat, and a member of this crew to rescue!" A cheer rang across the ship as the men scrambled to do as they were told. Gustav began cleaning the canons with the help of the Italian brothers and preparing them with gunpowder and cannon balls. George sharpened his sword and checked and rechecked his daggers around his waist. Finn turned the wheel to face the oncoming French ship and controlled the sails as best he could to hit the right wind. England stared out at their target, both anxious and excited to meet it. It was a rushed preparation, true. But they were ready enough, though any thoughts of diplomacy were lost with their lack of time. Not that he had expected that to work anyway. Smiling grimly, England thought, "I will get my Alfred back tonight. One way or another."  
_

France's head was tilted back, enjoying the afternoon sun. He could see the coast of his country now, and the opening that was the mouth of the River Seine. Everything was working perfectly. They had even made it a day ahead of time thanks to the blessed winds. Alfred was still chained to the wall of his cabin, silent and fuming. But soon they would reach Rouen and this would all be over with, either with the destruction of this worst enemy or a treasure trove of gold. He began humming one of his favorite French tunes. It was a very good day for the Frenchman.

He picked up a croissant that his cook had made last night in celebration of their return home. They really were amazing. He should thank that cook more often. Sipping his wine, France thought about Angleterre. How he was looking forward to that man's face when he saw the man he so desperately loved under the power of his worst enemy! He giggled a bit to himself, enjoying the feeling of triumph that he already felt. England would bring the gold, and France would escape with Alfred in tow. He would undoubtedly win. The other nation simply couldn't move through France the way Captain Bonnefoy could. This was his home, his country. And he would be the victor here.

His time of peace continued as he went below decks to his cabin. His already cheerful face brightened at the sight of the gorgeous young man and his fiery rage. He approached, careful not to get too close to the angry lad. "Well mon ami, our journey will soon come to an end. We will reach the city where my beloved Joan of Arc was taken from me by that bastard Angleterre. That is where you will be allowed to say your final goodbyes to him before you and I make our escape, leaving him completely heartbroken." Alfred simply glared in disgust at the old France. Thank God he had mellowed out in modern times.

Patting the boy on the head, France stood and walked to his desk. "Of course, you will always have a place on my ship as a member of the crew. It is either that, or prisoner, and for whatever reason I get the feeling that being chained up all day and night is not the most comfortable thing in the world. Please consider this offer, as I will not be making it again. Do not force my hand, Mister Jones." He removed Alfred's gag with a tug, loving the spark of disgust that sprouted into his hostage's eyes. "I would rather die than join you. Besides, England will save me. I know he knows your plans and will find a way to-" Alfred was cut off as Francis rolled his eyes and replaced the gag. "Then you have made your decision. Captive it is, until you can no longer stand it. Then you will be begging to be a part of this crew." He moved to the door, smiling back at the restrained man. "Arthur Kirkland isn't coming Alfred. Get that through your thick head."

France closed the door and securely locked it behind him, his good mood slightly dampened. No matter, the day was still a good one. He wouldn't let this hostage bring that down. Returning to the chair by the wheel, Captain Bonnefoy rested his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes, enjoying the peace of the moment. The waves crashing against the hull, the call of the seagulls that came from the nearby shore. Everything was so very peaceful...

That's when the first cannon ball rattled the French ship.  
_

Alfred growled as the Frenchman left the room. Of course England was coming. He was probably already on his way. The only problem was, would he get there in time? 'The Valentine' was ahead of schedule and had arrived at the river a day early. What if England didn't arrive until tomorrow? They would already be halfway down the river by then. He could only hope that England was also ahead to the plan and prepared for a fight. Gold was not going to get Alfred back now; there would be a fight or France would disappear with Alfred onto the mainland. England wouldn't get three feet onto that land as there was no love lost between the two countries. He would be lost forever in a land of French people, stuck with France forever...

He shuddered at the thought. No, England would be there before any of that even became a problem. As he was thinking this, the entire ship shook with the impact of something. Alfred was thrown to the left, his arms and legs still attached to the wall. Books, candles, wine glasses and maps tumbled to the floor and one of the windows swung open with a bang. What the hell was THAT? Alfred glanced in the direction of the impact just in time to see a very familiar ship in the distance, coming closer and closer by the second. A familiar ship with a barely visible familiar captain. Smiling through his gag, Alfred knew that Arthur had made it, just in time. He was here to save him.

The thought of England here to be his hero gave him the extra push he needed to escape. Now there was somewhere to run. He began straining hard on the chains, working to break them. They were tempered steel, and unusually strong, but Alfred was the United States of America. He continued pulling on the chins until the began to cut his wrists. scowling with frustration, Alfred sat back as another cannon blast shook the ship. There had to be a way...

The key. The keys to the chains was in France's top desk drawer. He had seen it when France had gotten a bottle of wine from the same place. If the attack from the British pirates could knock over the desk, then maybe the key would fall out. It was his best bet at the moment and strained to get as close to the desk as he could. It didn't take long for the rocking of the ship to tip the giant desk over, but now the problem was getting to the key. The drawers had spilled their contents all over the room, and the key was closer to the window than Alfred could reach. Every slight rock of the boat brought it closer as Alfred reached with his legs and head to grab it and scoot it into his hands while dodging the falling decorations on the walls. Finally, the tip of Alfred's shoe managed to get ahold of the loop on the key and he slid it behind him and into his hand.  
Grinning triumphantly through the gag, Alfred began to work the key into the lock. When his right hand was free, he ripped the cloth out of his mouth and freed his other hand, then his ankles. He stood, using the wall to brace himself as the ship swayed with another cannon blast, though this one felt like it came from the French ship itself. Damn, they had started retaliating. Time to move. If the British ship could get close enough, Alfred would simply scramble across and they could get out without too much damage. Holding onto anything still unmoving, Alfred kicked the door down and ran into the small hall, up the stairs, and out onto the deck.  
_

Complete chaos. That was the best way to explain the fight that was taking place on the French ship. Crew members from both sides were quickly engaged with one on one battles as the gunmen continued the cannon assaults. England had made it a point to seek out France as his first target, and his old foe did not disappoint. He was standing by the wheel, sword drawn in anticipation of the battle to come. "So, you found me Angleterre. Congratulations. I see by the vicious attack that you do not intend to return my gold in exchange for your handsome young friend?" England's eyes were burning in fury. "If you touched even a hair on his head I swear i will-" France waved his sword nonchalantly. "No need to get nasty. He is far too pretty to hurt." England drew his own sword, a twisted grin appearing on his face. "So now we fight over Mister Alfred F. Jones, eh Captain Bonnefoy?" Chuckling, France replied, "So we shall," and launched at England.

As they began their deadly dance of swords, neither noticed Alfred run out from the cabin directly underneath them. He whirled around, trying to figure out where England was, or any of his crew. He saw George fighting two small French pirates at once, easily finishing them off without a second glance. He watched as Gustav filled cannon after cannon on the British ship and fired at the French one, shaking the boat each time and causing everyone to lose their balance. The Italian boys were back on the English ship, fighting with their daggers as always, fast and quiet with their movements. He eventually caught sight of Finn, who was on the French riggings, furiously swinging his sword down on several pirates that were climbing to fighht him. But he couldn't find England.

He didn't have much time to think about it, as a huge French man lunged at him. He was unarmed, but fairly good at dodging and managed to get out of the way just in time. He ran across the deck to the English ship,where he grabbed one of the extra swords stowed beneath the cannons. He turned just in time to see that same pirate lunging at him, his eyes angry and determined. Reaching up to block the man's attack, Alfred began his own sword fight. He felt much more comfortable with the weapon now and could tell the man's style right away. He would attack slowly and deliberately, meaning that every once and awhile a huge gap would be left open for a counter strike. He would simply have to wait.

England and France continued circling one another, taking their sweet time with the fight. They both wanted to savor the moment when the defeated the other, knowing that the prize was better than gold. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds and small rain droplets began to fall, leaving the deck slippery and dangerous for the duel. Nevertheless, they continued to spin and cut and jab at one another sometimes hitting their opponent, even drawing blood. This would not be an easy battle, and had no obvious winner at the moment.

Alfred was winning his fight. He could feel it. It wasn't pride; it was a plan. Ever since the battle had begun he had known how to work this man, how to get him to do everything wrong to the point where Alfred could basically rip the floor from under him. With a final blow to the back of the head, the French man hit the British deck with a thud. Alfred didn't have much time to celebrate, as a smaller man was now in front of him, sword drawn. he was obviously more competent, and this had Alfred a bit worried.

Trouble on the French ship. Bonnefoy was gaining the upper hand in his fight with the English pirate. He had found a weak point in the man's defenses, one caused by lack of energy to protect it. He had obviously gotten little rest in the past week and seemed exhausted, and it was beginning to affect his swordplay. Slashing downward, France smiled. He was now confident he would defeat the Britt. He managed to cut his right arm multiple times, causing his enemy to cry out in pain and lose balance of the sword. England struggled to remain balanced on the slippery deck. He was losing control and letting his guard down. He was so very tired and he could barely keep his sword held aloft, let alone swing it and his arm was bleeding heavily now. He was on the defensive now, retreating closer and closer to the rail of the ship.

Alfred had had a rough start with the small man. He was quick and very knowledgeable, but he was also impatient. He would attack too quickly and leave openings for Alfred. Though he spent a time on the defensive, eventually Alfred turned the tables and began his attack on the man. A few strong strokes later and the small pirate joined his crew member on the floor. Glancing up into the oncoming rain, Alfred shielded his eyes as he scanned the two ships for England. How had he still not found him? Finally he could make out two men by the wheel of the other ship, one with choppy wild blonde hair and flashing green eyes. He smiled for a moment, ecstatic to see his captain again... but horrified at the battle unfolding in front of him.

England was done. He hadn't realized how little energy he really had, being wired by the adrenaline. France had managed to hit him many times in the arm, making him unable to use his sword without shots of pain running through him. Blood was pouring from a gash on his shoulder onto his hand, causing his grip on the sword to slide. He was holding onto the rail for balance and weakly keeping his sword above his head with his left hand now to protect the worst of the blows. Laughing, France said, "What is wrong mon ami? Can you really give up now?" England struggled to stand straight, but instead slipped and fell to the deck, his head resting on the side of the ship. His eyes looked up at France, who grinned smugly. "I always knew I could defeat you." With this, he pulled a pistol from it's holster and aimed it at the British nation. But he didn't pull the trigger.

Blood was pouring down England's face as it mixed with the rain. "Shoot me. Why not? Without Alfred, I would never live happily again." France's eyes remained emotionless as he stared down at his enemy. England spit at him and shouted, "Come on then! KILL ME!"  
"NO!"  
A single shout rang out across the deck to the two men's ears, causing them to turn slightly. Alfred had grabbed a rope and was swinging to the French ship, coming to rescue his captain. France panicked and hastily pulled the trigger on Captain Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as the shot rang out, expecting pain. But nothing came. There was no pain, no pressure, no nothing. Opening his eyes he saw a horrified France staring slightly to the left of him, his pistol still smoking from the shot. So he had actually pulled the trigger. But then where had the bullet... no. Looking up he saw Alfred's ashen white face, his hair falling beside his face in dripping white tendrils. And he saw the red stain slowly getting larger as it spread across his white shirt.

Everyone else was still fighting, but time had stopped for those three. England moved away from the rail to stand shakily in front of Alfred. The once-stowaway was leaning shakily on the rail, one hand grasping at wound. France was unmoving, absolutely horrified at his actions. He had shot Alfred F. Jones. Looking up from the blood, Alfred's bright blue eyes met England's once more. The absolute sadness that clouded those brilliant blue eyes was enough to break England's heart. No. This couldn't be happening. Alfred stumbled slightly, his hand stained red. England was crying now, though it couldn't be seen in the rain. But Alfred knew he was crying for him. He smiled shakily as he swayed. One quiet sentence. It couldn't even be heard over the sound of the fighting and the rain. But England saw the man he loved's lips move to form one quiet sentence. "You were worth it."

With that, Alfred let the darkness that was clouding his mind take over and he plunged backwards over the rail and into the dark and churning ocean. His last sight was of England's broken hearted face, crying for him. The last thing he heard was England screaming his name. And the last thing he felt was the salt water that hit his face as he slipped into oblivion.

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**At this point I would like to apologize for any emotional turmoil I may have caused. it hurt so much to write this. All. The. Feels.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Last chapter everyone! Thank you for sticking with this and please read my other stories. I hope this is a satisfying ending for you guys! I thought of the ending before i ever thought of the story so... Yeah. :)**

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The soap operas were really getting old. England had probably watched about a million in the last three months and they had become rather predictable. There were only so many times that you could surprise the audience with the same plot. Unfortunately, it was either soap operas or the news during the day, and American news usually just broughy England down.

Three months. That was how long England had been staying in this hospital and watching over his dearest friend. Three months and nothing. No progress, no change. He was still out cold, completely and utterly still. It frightened Arthur at times and only the steady heartbeat on the monitor would be able to calm him down. Three momths and Alfred F. Jones was still in a coma.

It had been the night the England had visited America. They had been in the library and Alfred asked for a story. So England obliged, but soon after, America was sound asleep. This had not been surprising, so Arthur didn't try to wake him and instead carried him to bed. The next morning though, England could not wake him up; not with screming, shaking, the smell of bacon. Nothing worked. So Arthur took him the hospital.

The doctors immediately checked him in, saying he was in a sugar induced coma. SUGAR? Apparently after all the years of complete disregard of sugar intake, his blood had finally reacted to the giant cup of hot chocolate with a million marshmellows. I TOLD him not to eat that. I. Told. Him.

But Alfred wasn't a human. He was a nation, so Most human remedies wouldn't work on him. So the doctors said all the could do was wait and lets him body's sugar levels return to normal. Besides that there was nothing they could do. So England had stayed to Watch over his friend, so he wouldn't have to be alone.

Surprisingly, a lot of the countries had stopped by for a visit. Spain had come once with Romano. They were probably the most calm of the visitors, though Romano did have plenty to say to some of the security guards, getting himself into relatively bad trouble. France stopped by but was quickly escorted out by England, as he made nothing but perverted comments the entire time. Just as he was leaving though, France managed to say, "No mon ami. I truly hope he gets better. As ennuyeux as he can be, I do hope he is alright." Italy came and got about seven nurses phone numbers, so at least his visit had been productive for him. Prussia managed to get himself kicked out of the hospital and told never to come back. Classy. Hungary dragged Austria to visit Alfred and Arthur as well and she got very emotional. "Oh you poor dear, to be seperated from him for so long!" Austira had given England the "I'm sorry about her" look, but England didn't mind. Hungary was right, it was hard not to have heard the annoying younger man's laugh in so long, seen his smiling face.

Because England loved his America. He always had and probably always would. That was why he had driven up to his house on that stormy night, the reason he had suffered through three months of soap operas in a tiny hospital room. He had only gone home a few times in the past weeks, and only to shower and attend to pressing matters. Otherwise he was here, usually talking to Alfred. He had talked about everything; from tea to famous painters, to the other countries, to the two of them. He told him he loved him. More than once. At first he hadn't still afraid even though America couldn't hear him. But then he began telling him every night and every morning, accompanied by a kiss on the forehead or on the cheek. Sometimes Arthur wouldn't watch TV, but instead just sit and stare at his friend. The man he prayed loved him back.

Today was one of those silent days, where Arthur would simply sit with Alfred, running his fingers through his messy blonde hair and wishing to see his sapphire eyes again. He would have to wake up. Right? Nations didn't die of sugar overdose. Then again, there was a first for everything... No. Don't think like that. America would be fine and they could go back to their normal lives. Sighing, England leaned back in his chair. Normal life. Life with America being blissfully unaware of Englandd's feelings for him. He didn't want that. But at the same time, he would rather have America alert and happy again without knowing than be in a coma, unable to laughing and tease and smile.

No, England would rather him never know and be awake and here with him. What he wouldn't give for Alfred to have heard all the things he said while he was asleep. Everything would be so much easier then. Leaning towards the bed again, Arthur pressed his lips to the boy's forehead, a single tear sliding down his face. "Please Alfred. Wake up love." His tear hit Alfred's face, the salty water falling to the corner of the American's mouth.

"You were worth it." Arthur froze. His eyes opened wide as he glanced around. What was that? It sounded like Alfred, but that was impossible. He watched in absolute anazement as America's lips moved again. "You were worth it." It was nothing more than a whisper. But it was Alfred. Now what he meant... Well it didn't matter. Though his voive was dry, it was his voice and England's heart beat faster as he got closer to his friend again. And then America opened his eyes.

The first thing he tasted was the salt water. Damn it, the ocean tastes like tears. As he opened his eyes, he saw England's crying face again. What, was he going backwards? But he didn't hear anything except a few strange beeping noises. Had they managed to pull him out of the water, and save him from that bullet wound? It seemed unlikely, but here he was with England above him abd the taste of salt on his lips.

England couldn't speak. Everything he had hoped for had come true in a matter of seconds. His Alfred was awake. He could see his beautiful eyes again. Everything could go back to normal. He smiled through his tears saying, "Alfred. You're alright! I was so worr-" he was cut off as Alfred reached up to grab his face and pulled it down to his own. A little surprised, England didn't say anything. "You saved me. Of course I'm alright. I'm back here with you." He grinned and pulled Arthur into a kiss, a softt, passionate kiss of someone who hadn't seen the one they loved in a long time.

For a moment Arthur was stunned. Was he really kissing America, the man he had loved for so long? It didn't seem possible, as only moments before he had been lamenting over the idea that America would never know. And now they were here, their lips pressed together in a warm embrace. After the initial surprise though, Arthur didn't fight it. He kissed America back, tears continuing to fall and land on America's cheeks.

Finally breaking the kiss, Alfred closed his eyes. It was nice to be back with his captain again. England had one hand in his own and the other softly running through his hair. "How long have i been out?" This question seemed to catch the pirate off guard. "You knew you were asleep?" "I assumed. So how long?" Arthur took His time answering. "Three months." Alfred's eyes shot open. "THREE MONTHS? Are you KIDDING ME?" England winced slightly. "It's ok, calm down." "Calm down? I can't! The crew needs my help, and you must have ben so worried and what about Captain Bonnefoy?"

England stared at him. What was all this nonsense? Crew? What crew? And Captain Bonnefoy? France hadn't been called that since they were pirates... Oh my. What had happened in Alfred's head while he was asleep?

Looking around the room, Alfred's heart stopped. He certainly wasn't on a pirate ship anymore. The walls were white and everythig smelled like disinfectant. But... That wasn't possible. He was just... WHAT? Looking at England, he saw more confirmation of his suspicions. Instead of his pirate uniform, Arthur Kirkland was dressed in blue jeans and a white button down shirt. His hair looked like he had just woken up and his huge green eye were horribly confused at America's outburst. "England. What year is it?" Raising his busy eyebrows, England replied, "You were only out for three months Alfred. It's still the same year as when you fell asleep at your house."

So he was back. Or had he never left at all? Was that entire adventure a dream brought on by a coma he had fallen into? He hadn't died, he hadn't time travelled. He hadn't kissed England... CRAP. He just did. If this was the real world, the present, then he had just kissed his own Arthur. Oh no. Not the plan. Yet it had felt so right, so familiar. It was like kissing the pirate, exactly the same. He looked over to Arthur, worried he would have to explain the kiss if he looked freaked out. But no. Arthur was smiling.

Alfred's heart melted. "How long have you been here?" England blushed slightly and looked down. "Well... Three months. I couldn't leave you alone." He said this hastily and refused to look Alfred in the eye. That was when America knew that through that dream or whatever it was, he had realized his love for Arthur Kirkland. And now he saw the Arthur loved him too. Reaching over, America took England's face in his hands again and gave him his biggest, most sincere smile. "Arthur."

England smiled back, glad that America didn't think he was creepy or something. He was still surprised though when America kissed him again, pulling him into his lips and holding him there. It felt so wonderful to have Alfred back, and even better that they were here... Alfred broke the kiss after a moment but didn't let go of Englad. Pressing his forehead to Arthur's he whispered, "I love you Arthur. You have no idea how much I missed you." England tried to hold back his excitement at those words and said jokingly, "What happened to you in that coma?" Alfred simply smiled, causing Arthur to say, "I love you too America." America's huge eyes lit up in happiness as he pulled England in for another kiss. This one was longer and full of the love they had always had for each other.

So wrapped up in one another as they were, neither noticed the small chain hanging around America's neck. It was gold and had a small golden ring hanging on it. It looked old and quite possibly Spanish. It was a lost piece of a very old treasure. A treasure stolen long ago by one of the world's greatest pirates. A treasure with quite the story behind it, one of a pirate, a great swordman and plumderer with secrets that no one would ever really know. But that was ancient history, a time long gone. It was a fairytale now, on that put children to sleep or entertained a young man durning a rainy day indoors. All just a story.


End file.
